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i 


THE 


Bride of Infelice 

A NOVEL 

BY 



ADA L. HALSTEAD ' 

VtVvft- • 

AUTHOR OF 

“the serpent bracelet,” ‘^AZEL VERNE,” ETC. 

) 

. - ^ 

*1 ^ 



'* Is there no pity sitting*in the clouds 
That sees into the bottom of my grief ? 

O sweet my mother, cast me not away — 
Delay this marriage for a month, a week; 

Or, if thon wilt not, make my bridal bed 
In that dim monument where Tybalt lies.” 

Juliet 









Copyright by Author 1892 
(All rights reserved) 




SAN FRANCISCO 

The Bancroft Company, Publishers 

1892 



TO 

Clara Belle and Wilbur E. Hayes 
With a Sister’s Most 


Faithful Love 


4 . 



,• * • 


V 



t 









4 







A 



CHAPTER 


PAGE 


TABLE OF CONTENTS 

1 THE ALIEN 1 

2 A WELCOME GUEST 10 

3 IN FRIENDSHIP’S BOND 15 

4 LADY CAMDEN 23 

5 A MORNING ENCOUNTER 34 

6 CAUGHT IN THE STORM 41 

7 A MODERN HERCULES 52 

I 

8 THE HIDDEN HAND 60 

9 IN PROSPECTIVE 69 

10 VALOIS’ SECRET 76 

11 THE BUST OF “GLAUCUS” 84 

12 A WATCHWORD 94 

13 BEWARE ! 100 

14 AT FESTAL TIDE 109 

15 THE BREAKERS THREATEN 116 

16 DEAD SEA-FRUIT 130 

17 LOVE’S BEHEST 136 


CHAPTER PAGE 

13 THE CLAP-TRAP 148 

19 THE TALISMAN 159 

20 BLANCHE 168 

21 THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 176 

22 A SUBTERFUGE 187 

23 IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 196 

24 HER STRATAGEM 201 

25 THE PRISONER 206 

26 A REVELATION 214 

27 ENGAGED 225 

28 “THE BRIDE OF INFELICE “ 237 

29 THE DIAMOND BRACELET 248 

30 THE DENOUEMENT 262 

SI MIDNIGHT MASS 283 

32 THE MIDNIGHT BELL 290 

S3 THE GATE AJAR 306 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


CHAPTER I 

THE ALIEN 

T he mid-October afternoon was drawing to a 
close. 

The atmosphere, with its quivering transpar- 
ency of azure haze, was redolent of the subtile, 
honied odor of late-blooming meadow flowers ; 
and that languorous hush which often precedes 
the dissolution of a New England Indian summer 
day seemed to encompass all living things. 

The only sounds that came to break the still-, 
ness was the low, monotonous purling of a little 
stream that found its way through the pasture, 
and a confused bird-symphony issuing from the 
intricate vistas of birch and maple-wood which 
in every direction showed dazzling conflagrations 
of color, deviating from richest tints of vermilion 
to saffron, russet and gold. 

Gray rocks slept beneath softly- clinging bur- 
dens of ivy and reddening brake ; groups of deer 
( 1 ) 


2 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


posed recumbent on the new leaf-fail about the 
shallow ravines ; while at a little distance down 
the gently undulating strip of meadow-land a trio 
of velvet fawn grazed and gambolled at their 
sweet will. 

Close along the western horizon there lay a 
shattered golden bar over which the sun’s red 
di!C hung for a moment in imperial victory, then 
disappeared. Anon a radiant flood of amaranth, 
rose and tawny orange spread itself over the 
heavens and enclosed the even. 

“ How glorious, how infinitely sublime I ” The 
words were spoken by a young man who for some 
moments had been standing with his head uncov- 
ered, as if in very reverence of the splendid aerial 
pageant, watching the colors of earjth and sky 
blend and interchange until they finally became 
one grand ensemble of spectacular enchantment 
before his rapturous gaze. He was of splendid 
physique, being tall, slender and broad-should- 
ered ; and his face, at once noble and handsome, 
was lit up by a pair of blue-gray eyes whose clear 
fathoms harbored the soul of intellect and kind- 
ness ; they were eyes that held all who chanced 
to encounter them rapt by their wonderful mag- 
netic beauty, and that having once seen one could 
not easily forget. 

His dark brown hair was tumbled into a negli- 
gent mass of burnished ringlets above a brow 
upon which rested the stamp of truth and refine 


THE ALIEN 


3 


ment, and his profile, clearly silhouetted against 
the radiantly illumined sky, his nostrils dilated, 
and his lips slightly parted to inhale the delight- 
ful perfume of flowers and freshly fallen leaves, 
looked like that of some Grecian god. 

Across his left shoulder was strapped a small 
portmanteau, and his flushed cheeks and quick 
respiration bore evidence of a long and wearisome 
walk. As he continued to dwell silently upon 
the ever- changing splendor of the sky, an antler 
with large, swimming eyes approached and kissed, 
with docile mien, the tips of his dust* covered 
gaiters. 

‘‘Ah ! you superb creature I ” ejaculated the 
youth, letting his hand fall caressingly upon the 
animal’s velvet head in appreciation of his volun- 
teered friendship. “ You are a jolly fellow to bid 
me such an afiectionate greeting to New England. 
What I would you turn traitor ? ” this as the deer 
retreated a few steps and lowered his antlers for 
a seeming hostile attack. But at the gently re- 
proachful words he again drew near and gazed 
up into the stranger’s face with his soft, dark orbs 
full of curious wonder and approval. 

When the youth at length resumed his way 
'through the pastures, all the triumphant colors 
of the sky had declined into a serene, uniform 
opal, and the shadows of twilight were being si- 
lently drawn over coppice of birch and maple, 
obliterating all the brilliance of their vestures, 


4 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


while noislessly and unawares the deer had dis- 
persed from the scene. 

Following up a narrow trail he passed from 
tangled copge to open meadow, breathing in as 
he went the faict odor of wild sweet brier, and 
mentally commenting that the shrub diffused its 
incense the same as in his own dear England, and 
that the stars came out in their old familiar con- 
stellations in the darkening vault above, which 
observations, it may be said, engendered within 
him an involuntary sense of homesickness. 

Having arrived in Boston that afternoon he had 
learned that his relatives were still at .their sum- 
mer villa several miles out of Lynn ; and upon 
the servant’s offer to telegraph for a conveyance 
to meet him at the station, he had said he would 
much prefer to walk the distance by way of exer- 
cise after his long and tiresome sea voyage ; so 
had immediately set out for “Ivendene,” the 
Elwood’s country seat. But already the distance 
had seemed twice that of his impulsive reckoning 
and as the darkness thickened and the narrow 
path he was following grew almost imperceptible 
before him, he regretted that he had not taken a 
conveyance at Lynn as the servant had advised. 

In the azure darkness above the stars fast gath- 
ered, yet- the stranger trudged eagerly on, now 
whistling softly to himself to dispel the brooding 
sense of homesickness, now silent with anxiety 
lest he had jnissed his way. 


THE ALIEN 


5 


But at last through the obscurity ahead he dis- 
cried a faint glimmer of lights, and this he hailed 
with a shout which bore the intonation of his 
great relief. 

“Ivendene!’^ f 

As the echo of his voice rebounded, he heard a 
sound over head like that made by the flight of 
some ponderous night bird; and presently there 
came an inquisitive “too woo?’^ to which he 
responded with a S9ft, trilling roulade, sweet as 
the note of a nightingale. A moment later he 
had unbarred the heavy outer gates and entered 
the premises of Ivendene. 

Up the terraced court he bounded with light, 
buoyant steps, despite his fatigue, and as he 
reached the top-most landing, he stood a moment 
in admiring contemplation of the gray stone 
structure whose turreted wings and broad facades 
uprose in architectural symmetry from the semi- 
darkness. 

Here and there amid the shrubberies white 
statuettes gleamed, while sphinxes posed, stoical 
sentries, upon either side of the wide, granite 
steps leading up to the vestibule. 

Here, under the bright rays of a crystal lantern, 
the young Englishman stood at length, but ere 
he rang the door-bell, he could not help pausing 
briefly to glance into the brightly lit drawing- 
room, the draperies of whose windows were looped 
aside, revealing a spacious apartment which, in 


6 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


appointment, partook of the ancient style of the 
orient; — whose antique cabinets, delicately inlaid 
with pearl and malachite, whose onyx lamps, 
suspended from the ceiling by wrought chains of 
silver, whose low, carved chairs and divans 
might, indeed, have once belonged to some prince 
of the sixteenth century; whose statuettes and 
paintings breathed the divine inspiration of 
sculptors and artists, whose names will live for- 
ever in the archives of classic Italy and Greece. 

As the young Englishman admiringly surveyed 
the rich interior of this room, suddenly his 
bronzed cheek flushed, while into his dark eyes 
there leapt a light of unmistakable rapture as 
they riveted themselves upon the face of a young 
girl, who reclined upon a low divan in one corner 
of the apartment with all the grace of a Cleopatra. 

She wore a gown of some simple white fabric, 
which clung in soft, unstudied folds about her 
slender form, bringing out in clear relief, against 
a background of crimson draperies, its every 
graceful outline. 

As the young stranger continued to regard her 
with suspended breath, she turned her eyes inad- 
vertently toward the very window through which 
he gazed, and he named them “ Mirrors of a 
Chastened Soul.” 

Beneath the bright lamp light they flashed out 
like purest sapphires, and reflected in their clear 
depths a world of love and tenderness, while 


THE ALIEN 


7 


something else which seemed like a shade of 
sadness, abided there. 

Her hair, now russet, now gold, now softest- 
mellowest auburn, just as the lights and shadows 
touched it, crowned a brow as delicately white as 
alabaster, while her features, strikingly like those 
of Titian’s “ Danae ” in their fine, patrician caste, 
were animated by a glow of color which underlay 
the damask of her cheek like a blush rose, but 
burst in richest carmine from her full, half-parted 
lips. 

The eyes of her unseen watcher followed her, 
when presently, as if impelled by some sudden 
impulse, the young girl rose; and, crossing the 
room, seated herself at the open piano. She let 
her fingers stray deftly over the keys in a brief 
and happy prelude; then her white throat 
swelled, and her voice throbbed out full, clear and 
sweet as a silver bell, to search the gloaming and 
to vibrate through his soul until it seemed to 
leap from its dwelling place to soar deliriously in , 
the bent of the heavenly strains : — 

“ My heart, my heart is like a singing bird, 

Whose nest is in a watered shoot. 

My heart, my heart is like an apple tree, 

Whose houghs are bent with thick-set fruit. 

My heart, my heart is like a rainbow shell 
That paddles in a halcyon sea. 

My heart, my heart is gladder than all these, 

Because my love, my love has come to me.” 

What had prompted Alice Meredith to sing 
“My Love Is Come” on that of all nights in her 
lifetime? 


8 


THE BRIDE OF JNFELICE 


In after days she recalled the song with a 
thrill of ecstacy, subsequently she remembered 
it with a throb of anguish, bitter, unutterable. 

Had she been so far removed from her sur” 
roundings that she started and uttered a low cry 
when, just as she ceased singing, the door-bell 
rang out in wild alarm? or was there a'premoni- 
tion in the sound that made her turn again to the 
instrument and with her beautiful face, recently 
so happy, now pale and ineffably sad, move her 
lips to these doleful words of presentiment: — 

“ Now soul be very still and go apart. 

Fly to thy inmost citadel, and be thou still, 

Dost thou not know the trembling, sinking heart 
That feels the shadow of some coming ill? 

Ah! no; ’tis not delusion; some kind care 
Touches thee, soul, and whispers thee ‘Beware.’ ” 

A liveried footman opened the door and scowl- 
ingly surveyed the belated suppliant thereat, as 
if to say: “Did you want to raise the dead, that 
you rang so loud and long?” 

“ I — does— are Mr. and Mrs. Elwood within?” 
questioned the young stranger with visible con- 
fusion. 

“The Colonel hand the madam har within, 
sir. W’at name shall I say?” asked the man, 
with a broad cockney accent that caused the 
Englishman to smile involuntarily. 

“ Hand your master this,” he said, and as the 
servant took his card he stepped into the ante- 
chamber to wait. 


THE ALIEN 


9 


Promptly the footman returned to say that 
Colonel Elwood would receive his visitor in the 
library at once. 

With noble upright bearing the youth followed 
toward the apartment named, and directly he 
found himself in the presence of his aristocratic 
American kinsman, who stood in the centre of 
the room smoothing his iron-gray beard with 
fingers that trembled slightly as his strange 
young guest crossed the threshold and slowly, 
deferentially approached him. “ Colonel El- 
wood,” he said, bowing low as he spoke, claim 
the honor of introducing myself to you : I am 
Thayer, son of Sir Douglas Volney, England.” 


CHAPTER IL 


A WELCOME GUEST. \ 

C OLONEL ELWOOD stood for a moment with 
his keen, black eyes fixed studiously upon 
the handsome face before him. Then he gravely 
reiterated : 

“ Thayer, son of Sir Douglas Volney, England.” 
Another brief pause, and he exclaimed : 

“ This is extraordinary, young man — extraor- 
dinary 

At his words a swift flood of color surmounted 
the young Englishman’s face. 

“Oh, I perceive, I understand !” he spoke pres- 
ently, and passed his fingers through his tumbled 
locks as the truth of the situation instinctively 
dawned upon him. “My father’s letter has 
failed to reach you — you were not prepared for 
my advent ?” 

“ We have received no message from Sir Doug- 
las,” was the grave and laconic rejoinder. 

“Well,” continued Thayer, and now his embar- 
rassment gave place to an expression of palpable 
amusement, “in that case, uncle Howard, I can- 
not wonder at your inclination to regard me with 
mistrust. One has to guard carefully against 
( 10 ) 


A WELCOME GUEST 


11 


impostors now-a-days, as there is a vast amount 
of fraud practised. However, I have testimoni- 
als, which I trust ” 

“ Bosh I” Colonel El wood interrupted him sud- 
denly, and now there was a warm clasp of hands, 
“ who said anything about impostors or testimo- 
nials ? Why, bless your soul, young Briton, your 
face bears the very stamp of honor, sir ! I want 
no better testimonial, and I never thought for a 
moment of mistrusting you. I welcome you to 
America and to Ivendene.” 

There was a suspicious moisture in his eyes as 
the colonel waived his hand toward a chair in a 
silent invitation for his guest to be seated. He 
drew another chair near for himself, and after 
sitting a moment with hands interlocked behind 
his head, and his features still working with sup- 
pressed emotion, he asked : “ How did you find 
us ! Did you call at the town house ? You should 
have sent a message upon your arrival, and we 
would have met you at Lynn; but of course you 
found a conveyance ?” he ended interrogatively. 

“No,” returned his nephew, “ I walked from the 
station. Your house servant in Boston would 
have telegiaphed, but I preferred walking after 
being cramped up so long on ship-board. I 
found your copses and meadow-lands well worth 
my exertion.” 

“You are ambitious,” observed the colonel 
complaisantly, “but after such a wearisome voy- 


12 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


age you should not have undertaken a'seven-mile 
tramp. There would have been ample time for 
copses and meadow lands after recruiting your- 
self. There’s the dinner bell I” he broke off sud- 
denly, ‘‘and you have yet to be introduced to 
your aunt and cousin Valois. What a delightful 
surprise this will be for Rene ! You bear a strik- 
ing likeness, by the way, to your aunt. She had 
the same classic contour of features when I mar- 
ried her, which, my boy, is well nigh on to twen- 
ty-two years ago : — yes, it is nearly twenty-two 
years now since your grandfather. Sir Richard 
Volney, came over to America with his beautiful 
young daughter. He little dreamed he would be 
compelled to return to his native soil without her. 
Poor old Sir Richard ! It was a hard blow for 
him to give her up. I remember the forlorn pic- 
ture he presented on the morning he sailed, as he 
stood on deck, with his red silk handkerchief 
waving in the breeze, and big tears, which he 
could not check, rolling down his cheeks, as he 
cried out to her in a last farewell — but there, I 
am digressing ! Stay here, Thayer, while I bring 
your aunt Rene and Valois.” 

And with this the excited colonel hastily pre- 
cipitated himself from the room. 

Left alone Thayer Volney sat encompassed 
with the happy expectation of meeting the an- 
gelic creature he had viewed through the drawing 
room window. 


A WELCOM.E GUEST 


13 


“ Certainly,” he told himself, “ that could have 
been none other than my cousin Valois.” 

With a strange agitation he glanced round upon 
the magnificent appointments of the room. 

There were tiers of book-shelves towering al- 
most to the ceiling and filled with handsomely 
bound volumes. There were Parian busts of Vir- 
gil, Homer, Milton, Shakespeare, Tennyson and 
Longfellow, all mounted upon costly pedestals ; 
upon a little opal stand there rested a statuette 
of the ‘‘ Dead Pearl Diver,” after the celebrated 
sculptor, B. Paul Akers, while upon another was 
presented a remarkable bust in ebony by a gifted 
American artist. There were paintings — master- 
ful creations — whose exquisite harmony of color- 
ing he would have studied at any other time with 
the keenest of delight. But he turned from them 
now after a casual glance, letting his eyes wander 
to a fierce-looking bronze warrior who stood in 
full armor just within the deep embrasure of a 
window between the heavy parted portieres. Then 
his glance strayed above the silken hangings to a 
silhouette of his great-grandfather. Sir Leopold 
Volney, who had died chivalrously fighting for 
his country at Sebastopol. 

Upon this picture his gaze riveted itself as, 
with bated breath, he listened for footsteps. 

They sounded at length along the tessellated 
floor just outside the library, and above them he 
heard a mingling of glad, excited voices. The 


14 


TEE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


next moment the door opened and Colonel Elwood 
re-entered the room accompanied by his wife and 
lovely daughter. 

Thayer rose and advanced toward the ladies, 
little able to repress the keen sense of disappoint- 
ment he felt as his eyes met those of his cousin, 
which, alas, were not those “ mirrors of a chas- 
tened soul ” he had been so joyously anticipating. 
Valois El wood’s beauty was like a summer’s 
gloaming lit with stars ; while that of the un* 
known one was like a golden harvest dawn-glow. 


CHAPTER III 


IN friendship’s bond 


As high as we have mounted in delight 
In our dejection do we sink so low. ’ 

—Wordsworth 

i i AYER ! my brother’s son I ” cried Mrs. 

1 Elwood as she advanced toward her 
nephew with outstretched arms ; and there were 
happy tears in her eyes as she kissed the young 
Englishman upon both cheeks, which caresses 
Thayer warmly returned. 

After that lingering embrace, with a soft, moth- 
erly hand Mrs. Elwood brushed back the cluster- 
ing curls from the youth’s noble brow, and putting 
him from her at arm’s distance, stood for some 
moments in silent contemplation of his magnifi- 
cent type of manhood. 

“ My beloved Douglas’ own son ! ” she spoke 
at length, and her words still bore an intonation 
of incredulity. “ I can scarcely realize,” she con- 
tinued, “that you are the same Thayer whom I 
left at Volney Wold nearly twenty -two years ago. 
You were then shaking a rattle over the ramparts 
of your cradle.” 

At this moment a fairy figure glided up to the 
side of the young Englishman. 

( 15 ) 


16 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


It was Valois who, having waited so long for 
an introduction, had concluded to waive the for- 
mality, and now extended a little dimpled, white 
hand, saying : 

“ I am Valois, Cousin Thayer. We have known 
each other from childhood, you know, through 
correspondence.’^ 

He repeated her quaint name as he pressed the 
dainty tips of her fingers to his lips. Then he 
detained the member in a gentle clasp as the girl, 
still looking into his face, observed, her face suf- 
fused in dimples : 

“My aunt, Lady Marguerite, promised me, 
when I was a very little girl, that you should 
come to A merica when you were twenty-three. I 
have counted the years since then. You were 
twenty-three last August, were n’t you ? ” 

Thayer assented, smiling at her charming 
piquancy and the little lisp accompanying her 
accent. 

“ I am sure,” went on the young girl, “ that 
we’ll be great friends. Ivendene has been a trifle 
dull to me at times without a companion. It 
will be different now with you here. I know you 
are jolly by your letters ; they always amuse me 
they are so droll, and I love to read them over 
again and again.” 

Thayer made her some laughing rejoinder, then 
he was peremptorily hurried away by his aunt to 
prepare for dinner, and Valois went back to the 


IN FEIENDSHIP’S BOND 


17 


drawing-room, which apartment Mrs. Elwood 
entered a few moments later, just in time to hear 
her daughter giving Alice Meredith, and her 
mother, a delicate-faced and refined little lady in 
black silk, a description of her English cousin, 
just' arrived. 

“ Is he really so handsome as you have pictured 
him ? ’’ asked Alice, half incredulously. 

“Handsome ! ” cried Valois, with elaborate en- 
thusiasm, “ he is like that bust of the Athenian 
Glaucus which Lady Camden has in her drawing- 
room. You remember, she brought it from Italy. 
His hair is dark brown and curly ; his eyes — ah, 
Allie, such eyes ! — a deep, lustrous gray, that 
seem to smile and talk as they look at you. Then 
he is tall and slender, and carries himself much 
like Lieutenant Carruthers of the navy. On the 
whole, he is divine, and you will fall in love with 
him the moment you see him.” 

“ Valois.” 

“ Oh, really ! I am — ” At that moment the 
door opened to admit Colonel Elwood and his 
nephew. Introductions followed, and for a mo- 
ment Alice Meredith met those “ deep, lustrous, 
gray eyes that seemed to smile and talk ” as 
they looked at her. 

Thayer Volney dwelt upon her name as if he 
felt an insatiable charm in its utterance which 
he surely did ; for was not this the enchantress 


18 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


who had sung those words : “ My Love is Come ? ” 
Ah, surely, surely ! 

“ Well, what do you think of my modern Glau- 
cus?’^ asked Valois, after dinner, as the two 
young girls were sauntering in the moonlit garden 
while the gentlemen smoked their cigars in the 
library. 

“Mr. Volney is undeniably handsome and 
bears himself with a superior elegance that must 
win him the favor of all who know him,” re- 
turned Miss Meredith earnestly. 

Yet Valois thought she perceived a tremor of 
constraint in her friend’s voice, and she peered 
furtively in her face as they passed out of the 
shadows of a hemlock tree, but seeing nothing 
there save a pallor which she attributed to the 
moonlight, she went on with her lisping prattle. 

“ He comes of a race whose lineage is remote 
and noble as any in Great Britain. Sir Douglas 
Volney has three fine estates in different parts of 
England of which Volney Wold, situated some- 
where in the Valley of the Thames, is said to be 
the finest. Thayer is sole heir-prospective to all 
these, and will succeed to the baronetcy. Oh, 
Allie ! ” the girl ended seriously, “ wouldn’t it be 
just too delightful if you two were to fall in love 
with one another I What a charming Lady Vol- 
ney you would make ! We have the portraits of 
all the ladies of Volney House, and I am certain 


IN FRIENDSHIP'S BOND 


19 


there is none among them more gentle and dis- 
tinguished-looking than you.” 

“ Hush ! Oh, Valois, dear, you were always 
such an unconscionable dreamer ! ” said her friend 
with gentle reproof in her words. 

“Well,” went on the other in the same naive, 
lisping manner, yet in a serious tone, 

“ ‘ Tis not Impossible he 

Shall command thy heart and thee.’ ” 

before he has been here a week. I’ve heard of 
stranger things happening — often I ” 

“ It is growing chilly. Let us return within,” 
said Alice, and again Valois noticed that intona- 
tion of sad constraint in her voice, and saw her 
shiver as she drew her light mantle closer about 
her shoulders. 

“ First come with me to the conservatory,” 
urged she, “ I want to get a spray of those pink 
orchids for my belt ; they are so delicately sweet.” 

So they turned at once into the narrow path 
leading to the hot-house, and soon Valois was 
bending over her coveted blossoms intent on se- 
lecting by the dim light a perfect cluster. 

Meanwhile, stood her companion with her eyes 
full of mournful pathos fixed upon a white olean- 
der tree near by. Her attitude was one of deep 
abstraction and expressed something of despair 
as well. 

About her sweet sensitive lips there had settled 
a shade of seriousness strange to them, while her 


20 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


cheeks were pale as the waxen flower upon which 
she gazed. She turned with a start as Valois 
touched her gently upon the arm and said : 

“ Come, aren^t you going to pick gome flowers 
for yourself, Allie ? ’’ 

“ No, not to-night, love ; we must not enter 
into rivalry to-night. I shall leave you sole light 
of the harem, sweet Valois.” 

“ Ah, if I did not know you so well I should 
want to rebuke you for being satyrical,” laughed 
Valois, as she drew her friend’s arm lovingly 
within her own. 

As they turned to quit the close fragrance-laden 
cloister, she heard the tremulous sigh- which 
Alice strove vainly to suppress. 

“ I do not think you are quite well to-night, 
love,” she said, anxiously. Surely, you are not 
grieving over your — over that — over your father’s 
— oh, Allie I you know what I mean,” she ended, 
desperately. 

“ I have been too happy at Ivendene, my dear, 
kind friend, to reflect much upon our present 
affliction,” returned Miss Meredith, quietly, “ do 
not be concerned about me,” she continued, “ I 
have only a slight headache which will wear 
away after awhile.” 

Her words were reassuring, and they hastened 
at once to the drawing-room, where the rest of 
the household were assembled. 

They made an attractive pair, these two rose- 


IN FRIENDSHIP'S BOND 


21 


bud girls, neither of whom had seen eighteen 
summers. 

Valois’ face, with its dark, piquant beauty, 
made a striking contrast to that of the Titianesque 
Alice, with her changeful golden hair and sap- 
phire eyes. Thayer Volney had likened them 
unto the gloaming lit with stars, and the golden 
glow of a harvest dawn. He could not have 
chosen a more fitting comparison and contrast. 

Valois’ black eyes scintillated with mirth and 
vivaciousness, while they reflected the soul of 
love and truth and kindness. 

She had the Elwood profile; her cheek bones 
were a trifle high for beauty, her nose was of the 
Roman type, and chin saucily protruding; but 
her mouth was her most captivating feature, and 
when she smiled, bringing a score of dimples into 
play, her face was like a bit of rare sunshine. 

She sat talking with her cousin Thayer that 
night, while Alice Meredith played one of those 
sonatas from Beethoven, which is full of the sub- 
limity, terror, pity and tenderness of that 
composer. 

“She plays extremely well, and with great 
depth of feeling,” observed Thayer Volney, as 
with breathless fascination he watched the ever- 
changeful expression on the beautiful face of the 
performer. 

“Yes,” answered Valois proudly, “as some 
admirer has written in her album after John 


22 


TEE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Keats, I believe, her fingers ‘ are music’s golden 
tongue.’ ” 

Admirers I ” Thayer repeated the word in- 
voluntarily and with a swift inward pang; but 
directly the shadow left his face, and he went on 
to say to himself, rather than to his cousin, that 
at the shrine of such beauty and talent as Alice 
Meredith possessed, many idolaters must fall. 

He roused himself presently to hear Valois 
saying that Alice had composed a number of 
pieces which she would some day publish. 

“ And what do you think, cousin Thayer, she 
is going to dedicate the volume to me. We have 
known each other from childhood,” went on 
Valois, “we graduated together last June, and we 
love each other as girls seldom love. I hope you, 
too, will love my friend.” 


CHAPTER IV. 


LADY CAMDEN. 

Ah, well that pale woman a phantom might seem 
Who appeared to herself but the dream of a dream, 

Neath those features so calm, that forehead so hushed. 
That pale cheek forever by passion unflushed. 

There yawned an insatiate void, and there heaved 
A tumult of restless regrets unrelieved. 

—Owen Meredith. 

A t the time of my narrative there stood upon the 
banks of the Merrimac river, several miles 
remote from a beautiful suburban town in Massa- 
chusetts, a castellated gray stone structure, which, 
with its several wings, its quoined turrets, its 
Gothic arches and columns, its vine-mantled walls 
and casements bore the appellation of “ Maple- 
hurst.’’ 

The owner of this magnificent country estate 
was an Englishman of unknown lineage. Sir 
Philip Camden, who upon his marriage to one of 
Boston’s reigning society belles^ established 
Maplehurst as a rendezvous for the select “four 
hundred ” of his and Lady Camden’s world. 

Hortense Ayer’s alliance with Sir Philip Cam- 
den had been the outcome of that paternal 
ambition which almost inevitably leads to a 
dreaded denouement. 


( 23 ) 


24 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Instinctively, even in her youth and inexperi- 
ence Hortense realized the unhappy future that 
awaited her without love — without hope of love, 
to exalt and brighten it; and it was with bitter 
rebellion in her heart that she had cried out in a 
last appeal to Mrs. Ayers, as that aspiring lady 
was adjusting over her face the bridal veil with 
its coronet oijieurs d’ orangee. 

Mother, mother ! I had rather you were 
arraying me for my burial ! Oh, let me not give 
my hand in such a holy bond as this, when my 
soul is eternally crying out against it ! You would 
not sacrifice my happiness on the altar of ambi- 
tion 

And she had looked through the delicate 
frosty meshes of lace, with her lovely face pale as 
death; its every feature quivering, and her soft, 
brown eyes dim with a mist of reproachful tears. 

The sight of her daughter’s emotion did not, 
however, appeal to that implacable mother- heart. 

Mrs. Ayers smiled derisively and repeated her 
favorite platitude. ' 

Love, my dear child, is certain to follow after 
marriage. It is the natural logic of the situation ! 
Think of the titled position yours will be as Lady 
Camden. You will lead a little world ! Let this 
thought bring a tinge of color to your cheek. You 
are too pale — by far too pale, my love, for a bride 
— the most distinguished bride of the season !” 

“ But, mother, I always feel instinctively when 


LADY CAMDEN 


26 


looking at Sir Philip, thaij^ehind his cool, suave 
exterior there is another — an evil man. I have 
tried to overcome the feeling, but cannot by any 
effort I” 

“That feeling,” repeated Mrs. Ayers, lifting 
her hand with a gesture of keen impatience, 
“ entertwines itself with this very simple fact. 
You are ungrateful. You do not respect your 
filial obligation toward a parent who has sacri- 
ficed everything for your future welfare !” At 
these words the hot tears dried instantly in Hor- 
tense’s eyes. She pressed her lips upon her 
mother’s flushed cheek. 

“ I recognize my duty,” she whispered, “I will 
fulfil it.” Then she had floated, in all her bridal 
splendor down to where Sir Philip awaited her. 
She did not pause once to cast a backward glance 
toward the horizon where she knew the sun of 
happiness was sinking on her life forever : but 
hushing her heart and accusing conscience 
against their never-ceasing cries, “ I do not love 
him ! I can never love him !” she. took the word 
of the Gospel in her hand, and promised to “love 
honor and obey until death.” And thus her vow 
was registered in heaven to serve to-morrow, and 
to-morrow, and forever ! 

Sir Philip Camden was proud of his lovely 
young bride — proud of her in much the same way 
that he was proud of the costly statuettes that 
graced his drawing rooms, and the splendid for- 


26 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


tune she had brought him. Few who knew him 
surmised the narrow and selfish nature that lay- 
hidden beneath the complaisant exterior of this 
man : few guessed how insidious and full of secret 
cunning were his courtesies. 

Fashion patronized and believed in him as a 
man of title and undisputed wealth. By skillful 
intrigue and sophistry he had achieved a foremost 
position in Boston’s fashionable and political cir- 
cles. At club dinners, before his marriage, he 
had entertained the wealth and affluence of the 
city. At the ball and opera he had been the 
coveted of scores of mothers with eligible daugh- 
ters. And many and bitter were the contretemps 
among the latter upon his marriage with the 
lovely heiress and reigning belle of the season, 
Hortense Ayers. 

Sir Philip was a man of medium height, but 
rather corpulent. His hair was of a dull red 
color, so was the somewhat spare mustache that 
drooped over his mouth, only partly concealing 
an ugly dark SQar on the upper lip, which gave 
to his face a hard, sinister expression ; his black 
eyes were long, narrow, and lustrous, with a light 
that might have been boin of craftiness or ambi- 
tion; a forehead low, and protruding over heavy 
eyebrows, which met above an aquiline nose ; a 
swarthy complexion, and a short, fat neck, upon 
which his head moved almost incessantly, like 


LADY CAMDEN 


27 


ths,t of a lizard, finishes a sketch of one who is to 
figure prominently in this drama. 

It was early in March when Sir Philip and 
Lady Hortense Camden returned from their 
honeymoon, which had been spent abroad. The 
country was still barren and disconsolate look- 
ing, with the late winter snows but half thawed 
upon the ground, and birch and maple trees 
standing up in skeleton array against the cold 
blue sky. 

There was little enough indeed in the sodden 
prospect to inspire or cheer the heart of Lady 
Hortense, as she leaned from her deep window 
casement upon the evening of their arrival at 
Maplehurst. 

At her right a forest of birch and scrub ma- 
ple stretched in continuous dreary monotony, 
their slender limbs just beginning to hint vaguely 
of returning foliage ; while at her left hand 
rushed the dark torrent-waters of the Merrimac 
after a season of icy bondage, their loud roar 
making a fit accompaniment to the ceaseless res- 
tive sobbing of her heart — “ I do not love him I 
I can never love him 

Upon this wide, turbulent expanse gazed Sir 
Philip Camden’s young wife in a sort of fasciaa- 
tion, as she repeated, unconsciously aloud, a line 
she had somewhere read : 

“ Blood-dyed waters murmuring far below." 


28 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


The sun went down, and the chill of twilight 
fell upon her silent and unpitying, where she sat, 
forgetful, in her loneliness and isolation, of all 
things save the river and those words, which 
seemed to bring with them a prescience of coming 
doom : 


“ Blood-dyed waters murmuring far below.” 

The silent gray had deepened into the shadows 
of night, when Sir Philip entered her apartments, 
and brought more vividly back her life’s misery 
by the kisses which had already become intoler- 
able to her, and to which her cold lips never res- 
ponded. 

Spring passed, and the first summer of her 
wedded life dawned — dawned in gladness to all 
.living things, it seemed, save Lady Hortense. 

Only a little time since she had been so happy 
in sweet, untrammeled girlhood. Then she had 
been grateful for the slightest gift that Nature 
bestowed, and even the yellow daffodils in her 
old home garden border, and the flashing gold- 
fish in the fountain basin had filled her with 
gladness ; whereas now, the brightest and choic- 
est flower failed to charm her, and she visited 
her own little aquarium one moment only to tire 
of it the next, reflecting, as she left the grotto, 
that she would add some new species of fish to 
the water — something that she had never had 
before. 


LADY CAMDEN 


29 


“ You are pale, ray dear, I trust you are well ? ’> 
Sir Philip was accustomed to observe when he 
chanced to be spending an evening alone with 
his wife, which was seldom, as social and polit- 
ical matters pressed close upon his time. 

“ I am quite well. Sir Philip,” Lady Camden 
would invariably rejoin. But one evening it came 
to pass that, noting the deep sigh that followed 
her reply, Sir Philip supplemented his question 
with another which was so abruptly put that it ' 
caused her to start as with a sudden acute pain. 

“ Why do you sigh so habitually then ? You 
say you are well ; and are you not happy as Lady 
Camden ? ” 

His long, narrow eyes sought and fixed them- 
selves steadily upon the beautiful half-averted 
face as he spoke, and they were doubly brilliant 
as he awaited a response. 

Full a moment passed, and Lady Camden’s 
lips were mute as chiselled stone. He saw a 
ghastly pallor creep over them as he repeated, 
calmly, yet with a deep flush upon his face which 
belied his voice : “ I asked, Hortense, if you were 
quite happy as Lady Camden — as my wife ? ” 

“ Sir Philip, it grieves and humiliates me — ” 
here her blanched lips faltered refusing further 
utterance ; while in her eyes lived ail the pent- 
up anguish of her soul, as they sought his hope- 
lessly. 

“ I see, I understand,” at length muttered Sir 


30 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Philip, and his words were accompanied with a 
contemptuous sneer. “ It grieves and humiliates 
you to acknowledge your marriage a contretemps.^^ 

As he spoke he rose and measured the apart- 
ment with deliberate step and with his hands 
firmly clasped behind him ; then he came and 
stood before her where she sat with burning tear- 
less eyes fixed upon the carpet. 

“ Am I not right, Hortense, Lady Camden ? ” 
she heard him say presently, and there was some- 
thing in his voice that compelled her to look up 
and meet his cruel eyes. 

She answered him almost without breathing 
between the sentences : 

‘‘ Sir Philip, I shall make no attempt to un- 
deceive you. Though I’d rather have died with 
my heart’s secret buried away from you and all 
the world, I admit it ; I do not love you, I have 
never loved you ! I am not happy ! ” 

An age-long silence during which stood Sir 
Philip still outwardly calm, and with his short, 
fat fingers playing indolently with the ends of his 
mustache. 

The little bisque clock upon the bracket re- 
minded them that the hour was nine. After the 
•last musical stroke had declined into the silence, 
Sir Philip said in the same contemptuous tone 
and with a contortion of the scarred lip which 
was frightful to see : 

“ Then I am to understand that you married 


i 


LADY CAMDEN 31 

me simply to gain a titled position ? Ha ! You 
are an exceptional artist ! Society, however, 
would little believe its idol had descended to so 
common a level. You have acted your role with 
such adroitness as to escape the criticism of the 
scandal-loving world in which we move. I con- 
gratulate you ! ” 

At his words Lady Camden’s face flushed a 
deep crimson. Yet she answered him with that 
quiet hauteur that chara9terized her : 

“ It is not true. As Hortense Ayers I was 
happy beyond a desire or regret. I married you, 
Sir Philip, to please and gratify an ambitious 
mother. You are a strange man not to have con- 
ceived from the very first hour of our engagement 
my true feelings toward you.” 

“ Lady Hortense — a — the appellation suits you 
so admirably, my dear, don’t you know I ” paren- 
thesized Sir Philip with ineffable mockery. He 
heeded not the swift, deprecating gesture with 
which Lady Camden raised her hand, but after a 
moment’s pause he went on in the same jeering 
tone : 

“ It suits your spirituelle beauty to be so sub- 
missive to that scriptural platitude ‘Children 
obey your parents,’ etc.; but that you are such a 
^ martyr to it had best not become known to the 
world. In perjuring yourself at the sacred altar 
of wedlock as you did, you have sunk to the low- 
est strata of moral degradation. Yours is a self- 


32 


THE BRIDE OF IHFELICE 


imposed penance, and let it be however bitter, it 
could not suffice for the enormity of your crime. 
I am not one who would rave, tear his hair, and 
finally drown himself in the slums for the sake 
of a soulless 

“ Sir Philip, cease, I implore you ! Leave me. 
I am ill !” Hereupon Lady Hor tense interrupted 
him with a poignant cry of misery. 

He stood for some moments after she had 
spoken, looking down on the proudly bent head 
of his wife, and contemplating with implacable 
calm the little diamond dagger ornament thrust 
through the thick coil of her jet-black hair, and 
the gems sparkling upon her hands, which were 
crossed listlessly and gleamed like ivory upon 
the folds of her rich mauve gown. He observed 
that her whole attitude was that of ineffable 
despair ; but this did not appeal to Sir Philip in 
the least. 

There was the same hard, metallic slur in his 
voice, when finally he said : 

“ Yes, I will leave you. You shall not often be 
afflicted with my presence. But — a — as I 
have said, do not lose sight of the requirements 
of your position in this establishment. If you 
do not comprehend the duties of a titled lady, I 
am certain your mother does. Always have Mrs. 
Ayers here- to direct them, and I am sure my 
entertainments will be successful and beyond 
reproach.” 


LADY CAMDEN 


33 


A moment later when Lady Hortense heard the 
door close and knew that he had gone, she rose 
languidly, and crossed the room to the large 
window, whose view commanded the river. With 
a hasty impetuous movement she threw open the 
casement and, leaning her head against it, 
wearily gazed out toward the glittering waters 
with hot, yet tearless eyes. 

“ Oh, would I had died when a happy, 
unsullied child,” cried she aloud in her misery. 
“Would I had died when a child !” 

The subdued murmur of waters came to her as 
if in sympathetic response, and gradually the 
sound ministered to and soothed her somewhat. 

All night she lay awake listening to the river’s 
sad monotone, and in the early morning when 
she slept and Anine, her devoted maid, bent 
anxiously over the lovely young face, with its 
underlying, yet unhidden grief, the pale lips 
parted and the girl heard them repeat slowly the 
mysterious words which ever since Lady Cam- 
den’s advent to Maplehurst had seemed to haunt 
her dreams: — 

“ Blood-dyed waters, murmuring far below.” 


CHAPTER V 


A MORNING ENCOUNTER 

Have I dreamed ? or was it real 
What I saw as in a vision 
When to marches hymeneal 
In the land of the Ideal 
Moved my thoughts o’er fields Elysian? 

^^QWEET warbler, good morning !” exclaimed 
OThayer Volney, as his pretty cousin, chanting 
these words of Longfellow, came suddenly upon 
him the morning after his arrival at Ivendene, 
where he sat half concealed behind a tuft of 
rushes near the swan-float, enjoying the soft, 
languorous sunshine and the dreamy picture of 
the water with its procession of gleaming white 
fowl floating in the shadows of the foliage. 

As Valois had flaunted up the little path, 
under the canopy of low hemlocks, her thoughts 
had been full of this young man; but she started 
in amazement as his voice greeted her so abruptly. 
“Why! ” cried she joyously. 

“ I little dreamed of seeing you out at this early 
hour, cousin Thayer ; indeed mamma had just 
enjoined me not to allow you to be awakened as 
she thought you required a good long rest after 
your tedious voyage. Did you sleep well she 
asked. 


A MORNING ENCOUNTER 


35 


To make a candid avowal, my dearest cousin, 
I scarcely slept at all,” Thayer answered. “The 
pleasure of meeting with my American kindred 
made slumber impossible, and I was so anxious 
for the morning to come when I would see more 
of them, that I rose almost at the first signal of 
its approach.” As he spoke he bent his eyes half 
guiltily upon a willow twig which he had been 
whittling. 

“What were you singing just now ?” he asked, 
as the young girl fluttered down beside him on 
the rustic seat. 

“ Singing ? Oh ! I was not singing j I was 
simply crowing some words which, I think, were 
from Longfellow,” returned Valois, flushing with 
embarrassment as she stripped the needles from 
a hemlock bough which overreached them. “ I 
like Longfellow,-^ added she, “and often adapt 
his lines to some favorite tune ; but I have no 
voice to sing, positively none I Mamma says 
she^d as soon hear my parrot croak as my funny 
attempts at singing.” 

Thayer laughed outright at her drollery. 
“But,” said he, encouragingly, “ you are very 
young. A few years may work a surprising de- 
velopment in your vocal talent.” 

“ No, I shall never be able to sing — never I it 
isn’t in me. Now Alice — Alice Meredith I me^n 
— has warbled like a bird from babyhood. With 
her it is as natural to sing as it is to breathe ; I 


S6 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


want you to hear her, and shall try and get her 
to sing for you this evening. 

Thayer’s heart grew restless at the mention of 
her name. He hesitated with the words upon his 
* lips. “ I heard her singing last night, and already 
do I know the beauty and magic of her voice.” 
He would not allude to that song, “ My love has 
come he would treasure the memory of it self- 
ishly within his own bosom, that its charm might 
not lose any of its sweetness. Little reading his 
thoughts Valois chattered on volubly. 

“ How odd it was, your coming this morning to 
the very spot which I myself love better than all 
others, though there are many lovely nooks about 
Ivendene. I make regular morning visits here. 
I love to sit in the warm sunshine and watch the 
shining swans floating in precise file down the 
pond, and to listen to their queer, unintelligible 
babble. They always welcome me with a glad 
chorus, and the birds as well know when to look 
for me. See ! I have brought my handkerchief 
full of crumbs for them so saying, she unfolded 
a bit of snowy cambric and revealed the swans’ 
breakfast, which she began tossing towards them 
in dainty morsels. 

They both laughed like children at the manoeu- 
vers of the graceful fowls, as they dove, fought 
and struggled for the white flecks, and after the 
feeding was over they rose to stroll about the 
grounds. 


A MOBNJNQ ENCOUNTER 


37 


They were approaching the deer park, which 
was hemmed in by a high rock wall, all en- 
wreathed in riotous ivy, and which lay beyond 
the garden hedge, when Thayer asked abruptly 
and in a voice that was not quite steady : 

“ Your friend, Miss Meredith, where is she hid- 
ing herself this lovely morning ? ” 

“In the library. Alice is forced by present 
circumstances to sacrifice much in the way of 
recreation. She has been wont for the last two 
years to spend the greater part of her vacations 
with me here at Ivendene,when we always enjoy ea 
our regular morning rambles together ; it is differ- 
ent now. She is studying ambitiously for musical 
examination. She hopes soon to secure a position 
in one of the Boston schools to teach.” 

“ Is your friend, then, dependent upon her own 
efforts for a livelihood ? ” The question was put 
involuntarily, yet with an eager anxiety which 
prompted Valois to look up quickly ; but Thayer 
had stooped ostensibly to examine a peculiar 
plant growing by the side of the walk, thus she 
did not see the deep flush which dyed his cheeks 
and brow crimson. She, however, hesitated, in- 
wardly annoyed with herself for having so inad- 
vertently disclosed her friend’s position. Surely 
it would humiliate Alice to have him know. 

“ But then,” she reflected the next moment, 
“ the whole world knows of it ; besides, it is no 
disgrace, it is simply a misfortune to which any 


38 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


man of blameless character is liable to fall heir. 
He could not by any possible chance think the 
less of my dearest friend for her adversity, and 
he had better hear it from my lips than from 
those of a prejudiced world.” Upon this she said 
to her cousin, who had risen from his half-kneel- 
ing posture and was looking at her in anxious 
suspense : 

“ Alice will be dependent upon herself from 
this time forward. Only two days ago the news 
of her father’s insolvency was declared in all the 
papers. He was one of the wealthiest brokers in 
Boston and it was generally supposed that his , 
business was one of the most substantial j but it 
seems that he himself had been aware of the 
coming crisis for many months — as far back as 
last May, when he made an enormous speculation 
in worthless mining shares ; since then he has 
frittered away all his fortune in striving to regain 
that first fatal loss, and even their magnificent 
house in the city, with all its equipages, has been 
seized and is to be sold for debt.” 

She did not notice at this juncture the low out- 
cry from Thayer, but went on sadly : 

“ Mrs. Meredith and her three daughters will 
be forced out upon the world to gain a living as 
best they can. Think, Cousin Thayer, how they 
must suffer I think of all that they must inevi- 
tably be brought to endure in the years to come ! 
Oh, it almost breaks my heart when I think of 


A MORNING ENCOUNTER 


39 


one so young, so gentle and lovely as Alice Mer- 
edith having to submit to so cruel a lot ! Look- 
ing toward the vista of coming years, I seem to 
see her toiling, pale, prematurely aged and utterly 
weary of life, for the barest means to sustain it ; 
and I pity, — oh. I pity her so ! ” With this the 
young girl covered her face with both hands, and 
Thayer heard her sobbing softly, and saw the tears 
drop from between her fingers down upon the dry 
leaves at her feet. 

He stood by, silent and pale, waiting for her 
to regain her composure. 

When she looked up at length, he asked, with 
enforced calm : 

“ When does Miss Meredith return to Boston ? ” 

“ On the first of next month, about the time 
that we go. Ah ! here are my pets ! ” exclaimed 
Valois, whose sunny temperament never suffered 
her to harbor a grief for many moments. 

They had come suddenly to the park gate. 

“You see that great antler deer yonder, the 
largest of them all ? ” said Valois, as they en- 
tered, “ he is my favorite. Come here, Dante ! ” 

At this the deer approached, but instead of 
going up to his mistress, he approached her com- 
panion and rubbed his nose familiarly upon the 
tip of his gaiter. 

Thayer laughed, letting his hand fall upon the 
creature’s head, just as we have seen him do once 
before. 


40 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


** Dante and I have met before,” he explained 
to his cousin, “ as I came through the pastures 
last evening he approached and saluted me in the 
same manner you have just witnessed. His vol- 
unteered friendship won my heart on the spot. I 
shall buy him a handsome bell and collar.” 

Valois flashed him a grateful smile, and a few 
moments later, in obedience to the breakfast bell, 
they left the park and walked slowly toward the 
house. 

Near the mammoth fountain, which was play- 
ing its crystalline sprays in the bright sunshine, 
they came suddenly upon Alice Meredith, who 
was just in the act of pinning in the belt of her 
simple white flannel gown a knot of daisies, fresh 
plucked from the dew-lit sward. 

She returned Valois’ kiss, and then murmured 
a cheerful Good morning, Mr. Volney,” letting 
her eyes meet his earnest regard for an instant as 
she spoke, and then flushing to the roots of her 
bright hair, which the sunlight touched and glor- 
ified as the trio passed up the garden path and 
disappeared behind a trellis thickly covered with 
intermingled ivy and clematis vines. 


CHAPTER VI 


CAUGHT IN THE STORM 

Such is life— a changing shy, 
sometimes shadow, sometimes bright; 

Morning dawns all gloriously 
And despair shuts in the night. 

—Catherine Mitchell. 

T O one who has always been accustomed to 
move in that serene social estate which only 
opens its precincts to people of great wealth and 
influence, it must be an inconceivably bitter 
experience to have, almost without a moment’s 
warning, to surrender a position that had ever 
been supposed to be one that was perfectly secure 
and steadfast. 

But Mrs. Meredith sustained the blow with 
great fortitude ; and by degrees during the brief 
fortnight passed at Ivendene, her sweet, aristo- 
cratic face assumed a look which told that she 
was learning to accept the harsh decree of Provi- 
dence with placid resignation ; that she had 
ceased to rebel against the derisive hand. But 
this look was not repeated in the face of her 
daughter. 

There was a mournfulness in the dark-blue of 
Alice Meredith’s eyes which perpetually hinted 
( 41 ) 


42 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


that her efforts to appear happy and interested 
were enforced. Sighing had become habitual 
with her, and the long, tremulous breaths seemed 
to whisper of the latent weight upon her heart, 
which every day grew heavier. 

She always sang when requested, but the voice 
that made her the legitimate child of music was 
never heard to vibrate with spontaneous melody, 
as it had upon that evening when Thayer Volney 
had stood in the gloaming without watching her 
through the window- 

She had always loved Ivendene with the sur- 
rounding intricate foliage and sloping, sunlit lea, 
over which one’s gaze could TN^ander far away to 
where the breakers dashed their white spray upon 
the rocky shore. She bad always loved the 
simple gayeties indulged in at this peaceful sum- 
mer house, and was never wont to weary of 
them ; but now there seemed something lacking 
in the color of the landscape which but a season 
ago had impressed her so deeply with its beauty; 
and the gayeties had all at once become monot- 
onous and tasteless to her. 

Some distinguished society people had been 
invited from the city for the formal house party 
which it was the custom of the Elwoods to give 
ere quitting Ivendene for the season. 

Mrs. Meredith and Alice declared their inten- 
tion of returning to Boston ere they should 
arrive, which idea, however, was so rigidly 


CAUGHT IN THE STORM 


43 


opposed on the part of Mrs. El wood and Valois, 
and also on the part of the kind-hearted old 
Colonel himself, that they were compelled to give 
it up and surrender themselves to thoughts of 
coming days, which they instinctively knew 
would be replete with bitter humiliations for 
them. 

So, indeed, they proved. 

In .those few days of martyrdom, that proud 
mother and daughter learned how full of hypoc- 
risy and artifice was the world in which, only a 
fortnight since, they had been courted and 
worshipped as children of wealth. They per- 
ceivedjthe sneering contempt in all the rigid 
formalities offered them, and accepted the 
effronteries with smiling decorum, although 
inwardly, they writhed in bitter resentment and 
unutterable humiliation. Yet above this there 
was ever the prevailing sincerity which was 
lavished in the affection of their hostess and her 
fair young daughter, and which served them as 
a buoy serves a man who cannot swim. 

They anchored their wounded spirits upon this, 
and so kept themselves above water during those 
long, trial days which at last came to an end. 

Mrs. Elwood watched the brougham drive out 
of the gates of Ivendene, which was bearing her 
last guests away to the station, and then turned 
away with the incredulous words upon her lips : 

‘‘ Who would have dreamed there existed such 


44 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


hypocrisy in the world I It is inconceivable I 

That night Mrs. Meredith fell asleep with her 
face pressed against a tear-wet pillow. Alice had 
stolen to her room after she had retired and, 
kneeling by the bedside, had whispered : 

“ Mother, I am glad we have been shut out 
from that world of falsity and shallow-hearted- 
ness. I had rather be a fisherwoman like those 
we saw at Nahant the other day, picking up 
clams in the surf, than to become such a form of 
deception as those women whom we have always 
believed in until now. Adversity is a kind friend 
after all, for she leads us up to that mount of 
truth and light from which we can view life in 
all its uncovered reality.” 

So the tears which Mrs. Meredith had shed 
were those of thankfulness to Him who had given 
her beloved child intuition to divine that which 
she herself had been blinded to when young, and 
a purity of soul that revolted against deception. 

Seldom had Thayer Volney been alone in the 
presence of Alice during the fortnight they had 
spent together at Ivendene, and he was certain 
that the young girl purposely avoided him ; for 
whenever they had been thrown in each other’s 
society, Alice had found some pretext for a 
hurried withdrawal from his presence, and, unless 
Valois composed a third party she would not 
permit herself to remain for the briefest interval 
under the spell of his dark, magnetic eyes which 


CAUQHT IN THE STORM 


45 


she always felt were riveted upon her. 

It was late in the afternoon of the day previous 
to that which the Merediths had set for their 
leave-taking from Ivendene. 

The day had been clear and wind- still ; but 
close upon sunset, some scattering flecks marred 
the sky’s fairness, and these collected into a dark 
and glowering mass after their gorgeous tints had 
faded, and soon they had spread until all of the 
blue was hidden, except a streak on the far 
horizon. 

Valois and her cousin had been standing on 
the veranda, looking toward the mist-wreathed 
coast, and enjoying in rapt and kindred silence 
the boundless beauty of the sunset. Neither of 
them heeded the keen southeasterly breeze which 
was rising. 

The girl’s short, jetty curls were tossed in 
riotous abandonment about her Gypsy face, and 
her wide, scarlet sash-ribbons flapped and swished 
and finally wrapped themselves about the legs of 
her companion, the bright flash of color suddenly 
diverting his glance from the far horizon where it 
had so long distraitly' rested. 

“ The wind is blowing up quite a gale, Valois,” 
said he, “ are you not chilly? Had I not best 
bring a wrap for you ?” he asked solicitously. 

“ I am not cold,” returned his cousin ; then she 
turned, and with a sudden impetuosity, laid her 
hand upon his arm. “ Where can Alice be ?” 


46 


THE BRIDE OF INFSLICM 


cried the young girl, with a strange seriousness 
in her voice. 

“ Where can Alice be the vexed winds 
seemed to take up the startled question and drag 
it through the darkling elements. 

Thayer Volney looked at his cousin with mute 
pale lips. 

The winds grew louder and the sky grew 
darker, and all nature seemed to put nn a livery 
of grief for the day’s death. 

What was it shining out through his eyes ? 
‘‘ Such ineffable — oh, I cannot find a word to ex- 
press that look ! It is something I have never 
seen in human eyes before,” said Valois to her- 
self. 

“ Don’t you know really where your friend is, 
Valois ?” Thayer at length questioned. 

“No. I was up to her rooms just before com- 
ing to the veranda an hour or more since, but she 
was not there. I noticed that her cloak and hat 
were missing, and concluded that she had gone 
for one of her solitary strolls. She has not 
returned, I am almost certain ; and I fear she 
will be caught in the storm — there is surely a 
storm coming on. See ! it\ already rains !” and 
she held out to him one chubby white hand, upon 
the back of which a solitary drop of water spar- 
kled. 

“ I will get an umbrella and go in quest of 
her,” said Thayer, calmly. 


CAUGHT JIf THE STORH 


47 


He was turning to go when suddenly Valois 
cried, pointing toward the mist- wreathed meadow, 
“ Look yonder, cousin Thayer ! that dark figure 
moving over the lea is Alice. The storm has 
indeed caught her, and she is running.’^ 

Thayer cast one swift glance in the direction 
signified, and the next instant he had disap- 
peared. 

Valois saw him a moment later, springing at a 
perilous speed down the terrace steps ; she 
watched him flying over the lowland in the direc- 
tion of the lea, until the gloaming, with its thick- 
ening vista .of rain, blotted him from view, when 
with a shiver she turned from the solitary ver- 
anda and entered the drawing-room, where all 
was at delightful variance with the discomfort 
without. Here she seated herself at her embroid- 
ery frame, with the look which she had seen in 
her cousin’s eyes still haunting her. “ What was 
that look ?” she again asked herself ; and gradu- 
ally, out of the light and fragrance of the room 
there seemed to grow the answer to her question. 

She heard it, and was glad. 

“ Miss Meredith, pray do not be startled ; it is 
I ; come to meet— to offer you the shelter of my 
umbrella. I trust you have escaped a severe 
wetting.” 

“ Oh — no — I am not wet ; which good fortune 
is due to my long waterproof,” said Alice, with 


48 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


visible confusion. “You are very kind. I am 
' grateful,” she added briefly, and her last words, 
very low-spoken, were calm, and measured with 
that quiet grace which he had noticed was one of 
her chief charms. Yet he believed he detected in 
them a restraint of tears. 

“Take my arm,” said he, “the ground has 
already become wet and slippery.” She accepted 
it in silence, and in silence they moved on to- 
gether, he feeling the cold from her little ungloved 
hand penetrate through his thick sleeve as he 
pressed the member warm against his heart. 

At length Alice said : 

“ I did not realize the distance I had walked, 
and probably should not have stopped before 
reaching the beach road had not a drop of rain 
splashed in my face to remind me that I had 
gone far enough. The storm came on so sud- 
denly,” she added. 

“Very;” answered her companion, “I was 
standing with Valois out on the veranda, when 
suddenly she remembered that you were out, and 
liable to be overtaken by it. The elements are 
very capricious. One would not have dreamed 
this afternoon that it would rain before night.” 

“And yet,” said Alice, “it is seasonable. Our 
rains usually set in early in October.” 

“ Of course, all the foliage will be ruined in the 
pastures ? ” said, or rather interrogated her com- 
panion. 


CAUGHT IN THE STORM 


49 


“Very likely.” 

' ‘ I am sorry. As I passed through them this 
morning I promised myself a collection of those 
superbly tinted maple leaves to treasure as a sou- 
venir of my visit to New England.” 

“ If I had thought — ” the young girl checked 
abruptly the sentence which had been upon her 
lips. “ I noticed,” she went on presently, hoping 
inwardly that he would not detect the incoher- 
ency of her words, “that Valois had a small 
basket of maple leaves and fern sitting in her 
room. She will give you these.” 

As she spoke the elements were lit up suddenly 
by a livid flash of lightning. His eyes were 
turned toward her, and the light revealed to him 
her sweet face all swollen and with tear-drops 
gleaming upon her down-bent lashes. 

The sight of her* sorrow, stung and wounded 
him deeply, and he cried out, hardly conscious 
of what he said in that moment of passionate 
sympathy : 

“ Alice ! I cannot bear to see you so unhappy! 
Adversities must come to us all sooner or later in 
life, but — but the hurt of all sorrow, however keen 
at first, is swift in passing away. Yours can 
endure but for a little space of time — it is but one 
of the transient shadows of human experience.” 

“You know, then. You have been told ?” 

“ Yes, for many days the one thought para- 
mount in my mind has been of you, my one ab- 


50 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICS 


sorbing prayer has been that the cloud may soon 
be lifted from your young life. I would make 
you happy at any self-sacrifice ; believe — trust 
me, Alice ! 

It was the second time that he had called her 
by her Christian name, and his voice, so low and 
appealing in its fervor, entered her soul like divine 
music, making a momentary golden glimmer 
flash upon her benighted world like a promise of 
something undefined but beautiful, still, in its 
shapelessness. It vanished, however, like that 
recent streak of lightning in the sky, leaving the 
confusion more confounded than ever, and mak- 
ing her heart to cease its action for very wonder 
whence the gleam had come and whither van- 
ished. 

“You are silent. You doubt me ! ” her compan- 
ion breathed quickly ; and beneath the obvious 
grief in his voice there was a shade of rebuke. 

“No, no,” she rejoined warmly, “do not think 
me so ungrateful, Mr. Volney, I beseech you ! I 
cannot acknowledge such words as you have just 
spoken to me by trite terms of gratitude ; but I 
shall treasure them always in deepest admiration 
and esteem.” 

They had now gained the terrace wall and 
slowly ascended the steps, the lantern in the ves- 
tibule above sending down a golden shaft of light 
to them in which Thayer plainly saw the beauti- 
ful, sad face of the woman he had already come 


CA UGHT IN THE STORM 


61 


.to love with his whole young and passionate soul. 
'Yet he could not trust himself to speak again to 
her — not even when, as they reached the vesti- 
bule, she suffered her eyes to meet his earnest 
wistful glance for an instant, and forced a smile 
to her lip as she observed : 

“ Of course, you know this is to be our last 
night at Ivendeue ? 


CHAPTER VII 


A MODERN HERCULES 


PTER breakfast the following morning as 



IL Colonel Elwood adjusted his overcoat in 
the hall, preparatory to driving to the station 
where he was to take the early train for Boston, 
his nephew joined him, himself well muffled for 
going out : 

“ I am going to volunteer you my companion- 
ship to the city this morning, uncle Howard,’’ 
said he, without looking up from the glove which 
he was in the act of buttoning. 

“ I shall be gratified, my boy,” the elder gen- 
tleman responded ; “ but,” added he, “ I thought 
it likely you would accompany Mrs. Meredith and 
Miss Alice to town this afternoon. You knew 
they were leaving Ivendene to-day ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Thayer, changing color, “ I shall 
contrive to get back in time to attend them. The 
mail arrives this morning from England, and I 
am impatient for letters which I am expecting 
from home.” 

‘‘ Aye, certainly, of course,” his uncle conceded 
sympathetically. 

The downpour had endured all night, but had 


(52j 


A MODERN HERCULES 


53 


now subsided, leaving the air swathed in heavy 
vapors, with a cold, keen, wind blowing from the 
north and bearing the prophesy of winter in its 
breath. 

A new sun strove vainly to warm the eaiih 
back from the stolid state it had assumed during 
the night ; much less, so kindly an influence, the 
heavy weight of iron wheels scarce left an impres- 
sion, as they rolled along the solitary country 
road, where the dismantled birch and maple trees 
were grouped together in shuddering desolation 
over the dark and frozen residues of their once 
beauteous foliage. 

Thayer Volney marked with an acute inward 
pang the disappearance of all the russet and red 
and gold of yesterday’s autumn glory, and him- 
self shivered at the coldness of the landscape. 
He thought, with a still deeper smart of pain as 
he looked away over the barren landscape toward 
the city, as the train sped thither, how many 
poor people there were in that mighty arena of 
life who were at that very moment without 
means to protect themselves against the cold that 
made him button his Russian sable overcoat 
closer about his throat — how many there were 
without clothing, without fuel, without shelter, 
or even a wherewith to lay their heads at night ? 
“ How many of them had once been the favored 
of wealth and affluence ? How many of them 
had sunk all at once from the gilded labyrinths 


i 


54 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


down through the shaft of adversity to grovel in 
the squalors of poverty, of degradation and nfi- 
nite shame ? ” 

As thus he questioned himself, his soul rose up 
irrhot rebellion, and took the form of a mighty 
opponent against that demon which is daily 
enrolling the names of hapless victims upon its 
list, and condemning the inmates of happy homes 
to such lives as this, and which^ would dare to 
lift a hand against the woman who had all at 
once become the incentive of noble purposes in 
his life. 

Arriving duly in Boston, uncle and nephew 
separated, the latter going at once in quest of the 
score of letters which were awaiting him, among 
which were two bearing the crest of Volney 
Wold. 

Over these he lingered longest. 

There were some words almost obliterated by 
tears which had fallen from the eyes of his 
mother. Lady Marguerite, as she wrote of the 
painful void engendered by his absence. 

“ But I shall strive for better endurance, my 
boy, my heart’s idol ! ” said Lady Marguerite, 
toward the close of her letter. 

“I will try very hard to bide the time which must 
elapse before I will see your face again. You will come 
back to me with that face heavily mustached and 
bronzed with foreign suns. Oh, I often grieve to think 
of losing my boy in manhood’s full maturity! but I 
know this is unreasonable ; it is inconsistent with Time, 


A MODERN HERCULES 


55 


who surely marks each day of our lives with some 
change; then let that change be however great in you, 
my own, I know in my innermost heart that you will 
still remain my darling, noble boy, filial and constant 
to the end.” 

His own eyes were not without tears as he 
folded this letter and placed it away in his vest 
pocket, after which he quickened his way down 
town. 

He alighted from a street-car in the vicinity of 
the State House, and had passed out through the 
Common to Fremont street, when, upon glancing 
down that busy, rattling thoroughfare, he saw 
suddenly, a cab and pair come tearing down the 
street at a horrifying gait. “A runaway I ” he 
ejaculated aloud. 

There was a panic upon both sides of the busy, 
bustling way. The counter-marching mass of 
humanity were crushing their ways to places of 
safety ; women and children were screaming ; 
horses and vehicles were being precipitated out 
of their perilous course to make way for those 
madly plunging chestnuts as they dashed on and 
on. 

Many in that intricate mob saw the white face 
which was pressed despairingly against the cab 
window as it passed. Many heard the prayer 
which now and then rose above all that terrific 
dim and noise. 

“ Save me ! save me, for the love of God I 

Another moment and the foaming, plunging 


56 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


steeds would pass Thayer Volney — only one 
golden moment between himself and the oppor- 
tunity to rescue a human life from a most 
horrifying death. 

Not once did the young Englishman reflect 
upon the dread hazard of that opportunity which 
involved his own life. Not once did the question 
’ of “ self” rise up between him and chivalry. 

Like a young Hercules he stood with every 
muscle fixed for the fray ; and when the oppor- 
tune instant came, he hurled himself from the 
pavement and, with a hand of iron, grasped the 
silver trappings of the horses and gave them a 
sudden powerful jerk. They reared, they plunged 
in the air for an instant, then settled their tremb- 
ling fore-limbs upon the cobblestones, neighed and 
were still. 

From the mighty multitude, which had wit- 
nessed this startling deed of heroism there uprose 
a storm of applause. Men waved their hats, 
women their handkerchiefs, and the wave upon 
wave of “ bravos ” which ran along the throng 
were accompanied by the thunderous clapping of 
hands. 

He did not hear them. The swift action had 
cost him nearly all of his bodily strength, and his 
right arm had almost been wrenched from its 
socket. For a moment he reeled with faintness 
and acute pain ; but by a great effort he mastered 
the spell, and when it had quite passed, he saw 


A MODERN HERCULES 


57 


a white face through the cab-window looking out 
upon him with great startled eyes which wore, 
above their terror, an expression of dumb grati- 
tude. Her lips seemed to move, but if in spoken 
words these were not heard. 

The crowd was pressing upon them, and he 
wished not to make himself the object of their 
shallow congratulations. He wished not to be 
the center of such a cowardly throng as this. 
Hurriedly throwing open the carriage door he 
bowed low before the beautiful stranger and said : 

“ Madame, you cannot risk yourself further 
with these animals ; they are not to be trusted. 
Can I assist you to alight ? There is an apothe- 
cary’s shop close by ; if you will allow me to lead 
you there, I will procure for you a glass of wine.” 

Without a word she placed her small foot upon 
the step, and the next moment they were making- 
their way together through the multitude, which 
fell asunder to make room for them to pass. 

“ Who is he ? Who is he ? ” passed from lip 
to lip, as the many pairs of eyes riveted them- 
selves admiringly upon the young Englishman’s 
noble and handsome face. But none there could 
answer the question. 

After the rescued lady had swallowed a portion 
of the stimulant which was given her, she seemed 
greatly revived ; even a tinge of color came to her 
usually pale cheek as she turned her beautiful 
dark eyes upon Thayer and said : 


58 


THE BRIDE OP INFELICE 


‘‘ Oh, sir, how can I acknowledge my gratitude 
for your service ? Such valor as you have shown 
passes all expression of words ! ” and now her 
brown eyes filled with tears of emotion. 

He bowed low in deference at her fervently 
spoken words. 

“Madame, my act was merely human,” he 
replied, simply ; and then he seemed to grow be- 
fore her eyes, as they riveted themselves upon 
him involuntarily, into a fixed statue of Grecian 
ideality ; so high and straight and proud he tow- 
ered above her, with his soft, luminous eyes look- 
ing into vacancy, and his full, curved lips wearing 
a half disdainful expression, for he was still 
thinking of that cowardly mob which had not 
ventured the eighth of an inch to save her, but 
had cried out with vulgar and vehement applause 
when he succeeded in checking her horses. 

Presently he turned to her again and said : 

“ There is a telephone here. I will ring for a 
cab and see you safely home.” 

“ No,” said she, “ pray do not let me detain you 
longer. I will send a message to my husband ; 
he can reach me directly. But — ” she hesitated, 
visibly embarrassed, “ but you will honor me with 
your name that I may tell him ? ” 

“ It is so trivial a matter, madam. Humanity 
— that is all. You have virtually nothing to feel 
grateful for. I would merely know whom I have 
had the honor of meeting so providentially ? ” 


A MODERN HERCULES 


59 


“ Is that fair — quite ? ” asked she, and her eyes, 
which seemed to speak of some latent sorrow, 
dwelt upon him in momentary appeal. Then, in 
silence, she handed him her card. He bowed 
before her with uncovered head as he accepted 
this, then as he turned away he repeated the 
name to himself which he read upon the dainty 
white tablet : 

“ Hortense, Lady Camden, I have heard Va- 
lois speak of her,’’ he mentally observed, as he 
left the apothecary’s shop. 


CHAPTER VIII 


THE HIDDEN HAND 

When thou dost alms, let not thy right hand know what thy 
left hand doeth.—New Testament. 

i i A LLIE, a carriage has stopped at our door 

ii. and a lady is alighting. It is Hortense, 
Lady Camden ! ’’ cried Blanche Meredith, who 
for some time had been standing at the library 
window looking out meditatively upon the blus- 
try avenue. 

Alice laid aside her pen and rose with a happy 
exclamation. 

The next moment the servant opened the door 
and announced her visitor. “ You see, my dear, 
I have waived all formalities,” cried a voice just 
behind him, and Lady Camden rushed in and 
was affectionately greeted by her old schoolfellow. 

“^Hortense ! I knew you would be true. I knew 
you would not prove shallow-hearted like most 
of them !” Alice exclaimed, as tears of sheer hap- 
piness rushed to her eyes. 

“I did not hear of your misfortune before 
last Friday,” explained her friend. “ You see,” 
she went on, “ Sir Philip and I have been in New 
York during the last fortnight and have been 
(60) 


THE HIDDEN HAND 


61 


( 


careless about reading the papers. I took a cab 
last Saturday morning expressly to come to you, 
but the horses became unmanageable and ran 
away, causing me such a fright that I was laid 
up at mamma’s for two whole days afterward, 
I thought you might have seen an account of the 
incident in the papers. You know they always 
get everything in these Boston papers. Isn’t it 
awful to have one’s name so dragged in the dirt ?” 

Alice assented. She had not seen the account, 
and so Lady Hortense minutely detailed it to her, 
and ended by saying : 

“ So here I am, my dear, left to go on to the 
end of the chapter without knowing to whom I 
am indebted for my deliverance from that horri- 
ble impending death. Oh, he was so courageous, 
so heroic, so handsome !” she added, with a smile 
upon her soft, half-parted lips, as of dreamy med- 
itation. 

“It sounds just like a romance, Lady Cam- 
den !” hereupon declared twelve-year-old Blanche, 
who had been listening from her post at the win- 
dow. “Who knows,” she went on innocently, 
“ but your daring hero may turn out to be some 
royal prince, who may fall desperately in love 
with, and in the end marry — oh ! forgive me — 
please forgive me, Lady Camden ! I spoke heed- 
lessly,” she broke off, noting suddenly the deep 
flush which her words had called to Lady Hor- 
tense’s face. 


62 TEE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 

This was very brief-lived, but was followed by 
an intense pallor, and there was an obvious con- 
straint in her voice as she turned to her friend 
and said : 

“ Now, Alice, let me hear something of your- 
self and your plans; during these two weeks, of 
course you have been planning and thinking 

“ Yes, thinking much ; building far different 
castles, Hortense, from those which we used to 
build together at school. Please do not cry, dear I 
We have already passed through the worst, be- 
sides it is not nearly so bad as it might have been. 
All our days cannot be wrought with sunshine, 
you know.” And she repeated those familiar 
lines : 

Into all lives some rain must fall. 

Some days must be dark aud dreary. 

“We are so apt to count too high our summer days ; 
so little used to adapting ourselves to the harder 
lessons of life that prepare us for the reverses 
which to every human experience are almost cer- 
tain to come, sooner or later, 1 know that I 
myself have been one of the most heedless of 
scholars in this respect ; but I have at last come 
to accept the lesson of adversity as one in which 
there is a golden text and a beautiful moral. I 
believe that for each sorrow there is added a 
rate of true merit to the soul that suffers, and 
suffers bravely. If ever that time should come 
when our former circumstances may be re-estab- 


THE HIDDEN HAND 


63 


lished we will be better able to appreciate them,” 
the girl added earnest!}' , and with one of her rare 
sweet smiles. 

“ What are your plans for the future ?” asked 
Lady Camden, who had listened admiringly to 
the argument in which her brave friend had dealt 
so delicately, so leniently with the all-ruling 
hand which had been laid upon her and hers so 
ruthlessly. 

“ Well, to begin with,” said Alice, I have been 
preparing myself for a musical review. I hope to 
secure a position in one of the conservatories to 
teach the primary classes.” 

“ Oh, Alice, such drudgery would kill you ! ” 
cried Lady Camden, lifting her small, delicately- 
gloved hand in a gesture of deprecation. 

“ But you know how I have always loved the 
art, Hortense. What would, indeed, seem drudg- 
ery to ma'ny will be to me only pleasant 
recreation,” argued Alice. 

“ Ah, my friend, when day after day you are 
compelled to repeat again and again the same 
tiresome exercises, with rebellious children, who 
hate practicing — most children, you know, do 
hate it — when you are compelled to do this, 
recreation will soon lose its charm and you will 
find yourself worn out and old before you have 
been teaching a year. Now, Alice dear, listen ; T 
have a great scheme,” added she, and Miss 
Meredith folded her slender, blue-veined hands 


64 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


over each other in her lap and leaned forward in 
a pretty attitude of attention. 

“ It is this,” went on her friend. “ You are to 
give up all ideas of teaching for the present and 
come to Maplehurst instead to officiate as a kind 
of lady’s companion to me. I find it exceedingly 
lonesome and dull at Camden, and — and I love 
you. I want you with me ! ” 

Her voice was very appealing, and her words 
had in them all the warmth and affection of gen- 
erous friendship ; but Alicej' although she was 
deeply touched by the munificence of her offer, 
sat long with tear-briramed eyes fixed upon the 
carpet ere she answered. She was thinking thus : 

“The position would involve so much of 
humiliation for me. I would be thrown in daily 
contact with people of the world ; would daily 
have to brook effronteries from them, as we did 
at Ivendene,” and her proud, true nature made 
her revolt against the thought. “ Yet, on the 
other hand,” she meditated, “it would be a great 
.triumph for me. I would exult in letting them 
see that we yet have left to us such friends as the 
Elwoods, and Lady Camden, whose influence is 
in itself sufficient to defend us against a whole 
army of enemies.” 

The girl was not ambitious so far as social 
achievements were concerned, yet there was para- 
mount in her, a sense of arrogance, which made 
her resentful against a rebuff or slight, and this. 


THE HIDDEN HAND 


65 


with its blending of delicate defiance, outweighed 
that other pride, and decided her ; so it happened 
that when presently her sister Blanche looked 
round, wondering at the long silence which had 
fallen between the two, she saw a picture that 
brought a mist of tears to her eyes. 

Alice w*as kneeling at the feet of Lady Hor- 
tense, with her head pillowed upon that lady’s 
sables, and that lady’s hand laid with lingering 
tenderness upon the bright coronet of hair. 

“ Will you come to Maplehurst ? ” she heard 
Sir Philip’s wife say, as she bent her face low 
over Alice. “ I will be an indulgent friend, a 
very good trustee, a much less exacting princi- 
pal than you would find in the conservatory of 
music. I will be a true sympathizer and more. 
I will be a sister, Alice, to you.” 

There was a sobbing effort at an expression of 
gratitude, a tender lingering embrace, and 
Blanche waited to hear no more, but rushed out 
of the room to find her way through blinding 
tears, along the hall and up the wide flight of 
stairs to Mrs. Meredith’s private sitting-room. 
Here she found her mother, and told her what 
had transpired between Lady Camden and Alice, 
and was astounded to see that Mrs. Meredith 
conceded willingly, nay, gladly, to the newly- 
conceived project. 

‘ ‘ How can we live with her away from us all 


66 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


through the long days and nights,’’ cried the 
child in passionate grief. 

She had always looked up to Alice with that 
worshipful attachment so often seen in younger 
sisters, and which sometimes amounts almost to 
idolatry ; and the first surprised thoughts of 
being separated from her* were wrought with 
ineffable anguish, and all that day she hid her- 
self away in a little room up in the attic, and 
would not be comforted. 

“ Of course I cannot ask you to come to me at 
once. You will want to see the family re-estab- 
lished,” said Lady Camden, as she rose to take 
her departure. 

“ We are not to give up our dear old home,” 
said Alice, wondering how she could have for- 
gotten until now to convey the happy intelligence 
to her friend. “ Last Saturday,” she went on to 
explain, “ upon our return from Ivendene, we 
found papa awaiting us at the depot, with a face 
so joyful that it looked almost saintly. As he 
kissed ma he pressed into her hand a sealed 
document which proved to be a new deed to our 
homestead, made over in mamma’s name by 
isome munificent friend, who prefers to keep 
ihis identity in the background among that order 
of profound mysteries which defies all light of 
origin. His fairy name — the one signed to the 
paper — is Robin St. Cloud ; aside from which we 
know nothing of our good Samaritan, except it 


THE HIDDEN HAND 


67 


be that he is one of the limited few in this 
pedantic and parading world who does alms 
according to scriptural teaching ; but we cherish 
his name much as a child does that of Santa 
Claus, and our nightly dreams are haunted by 
ideal fancies of Robin St. Cloud. Last night, 
continued the girl, “ I had such a beautiful 
dream ; the face of my hero was indistinct to me. 
I saw him as through a cloud-mist ; but his eyes 
shone out upon me like the sun. I saw, also, his 
hand, which was shapely and white as marble 
In it he held a scroll, upon which I saw plainly 
written, in letters which seemed to be wrought of 
pure gold, the one word, ‘ Mizpah.’ As I read 
the word, and interpreted its meaning to myself, 
the scroll and the hand seemed gradually to dis- 
appear. When I awakened, Blanche was stand- 
ing beside me ; she said that she had heard me 
speaking as she lay awake, and came near to 
hear what I was saying. It seemed that I had 
repeated the interpretation of that word aloud, 
for she asked me if mizpah did not mean, ‘ The 
Lord watch between you and me.’ Don’t you 
think, Hortense, that the dream-scroll is in some 
way associable with the deed ?” 

“ Have you a suitor ? ” asked her friend sud- 
denly. 

“ No,” returned Alice, then she added with a 
smile, half contemptuous, half amused, “you 
know the golden bait has fallen from my hand.” 


68 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Lady Camden took her departure from the 
brown-stone house strangely impressed with what 
she had heard about the mysterious deed and the 
dream-scroll with its significant motto, “ Mizpah.” 


CHAPTER IX 


IN PROSPECTIVE 

< (11 TIL ADI, did you ring ? ” 
iVl “ Yes. Go up stairs, Anine, to Miss Mere- 
dith’s room, and if she is not engaged, say that 
I am awaiting her here.” 

As the maid withdrew, Lady Hortense turned 
from the window, where for some time she had 
stood looking out upon the dull, cloud-massed 
sky, and slowly approached the grate, where a 
bright wood fire was crackling cheerfully and 
filling the room with its resinous warmth. 

She moved with an air of inertness ; and as 
she placed one exquisitely slippered foot upon 
the polished fender, a palpable yawn for an in- 
stant disfigured her lovely brunette face. She 
was thinking, as she let her languid dark eyes stray 
restlessly about the rich apartment with its paint- 
ings, its bronzes, its Venitian bowls of choice cut 
roses : — 

“Of what use is all this grandeur and dis- 
play ? Position I wherein lies the triumph of 
that for which thousands of women would to-day 
sacrifice themselves ? I’d rather be some rustic 
lass like Barbara Harmon, the ferryman’s daugh- 
( 69 ) 


70 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


ter, and sit with her on the riverbank from morn 
till night angling for fish with worm bait, than 
such a slave to the conventionalities of the world 
as I have become.” 

She was possessed with a sense of ennui — a 
hovering spirit of weariness and dread which 
made her crave to flee from the arena in w^hich 
she was forced, like a rope-dancer, daily to re-act 
her part before an on-looking multitude. Each 
day seemed to increase her loathing for the fic- 
ticious role which she was compelled to play with 
a smiling face and a “fittingness” which the 
most critical eye could not censure. The mask 
was smothering her, and she craved to be free 
from it. 

“ Hortense, how unpardonably selfish you must 
think me ! I had forgotten the flight of time in 
trying to solve that intricate lace pattern,” said 
a voice of sweet contrition suddenly breaking in 
upon her silent reverie. Her friend had entered 
with a tread so noiseless that she had not heard 
her approach, 

“ It is I who am the selfish one, not you, my 
dear,” said Lady Hortense turning quickly. “ I 
positively have come to grudge every moment 
that keeps you from my sight. In the fortnight 
that you have spent at Maplehurst you have 
spoiled me as a doting mother spoils her one um 
conscionable child. I was just thinking what a 
martyrdom this place would be without you — yes, 


IN PROSPECTIVE 


71 


dear, martyrdom ! she repeated as she saw the 
astonished look which came into Alice Meredith’s 
eyes. 

“ But, Hortense ! ” exclaimed she, “ martyr- 
dom means torment ; how can you make Maple- 
hurst synonymous with that word ? In all my 
life,” Alice added fervently, “I have never seen 
so beautiful a place as this. I wondered last 
night, as I stood at my window looking down 
upon the moonlit river, if God’s serenity ever 
touched a scene of more surpassing loveliness 
than that which the golden-shining belt of the 
river presented, overshadowed by the castle walls. 
I thought what an inspiration it would have been 
to Whittier who so loved the Merrimac, Oh, I 
never should find Maplehurst dull or monotonous 
much less a martyrdom,'^ she ended, earnestly. 

“Oh, wait ; you have been here as yet but a 
fortnight,” said Lady Camden, derisively. “ Your 
romanticism will crave a new subject after the 
Merrimac has grown a few months old to you. 
You would never care to circumscribe your whole 
life to it, as I must the greater part of mine,” she 
added wearily. 

“ I remember,” said Alice, “one day when we 
were reading some novel together, out in the sem- 
inary grove, and you said you would be like the 
heroine of that story and some day live on a re- 
mote island alone with the man you loved. Hor- 


72 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


tense, have you quite outgrown that spirit of 
romance ? ” 

Lady Camden’s face underwent a swift pallor. 
A flood of incoherent memories of her dreamy, 
felicitous maidenhood was surging through her 
brain. 

Her eyes had in them all the suppressed mis- 
ery of her soul as she fixed them upon her friend 
and faltered from tremulous lips a cry so full of 
anguish that to Alice Meredith’s dying day she 
never quite forgot it. 

“ Do not, oh do not refer to those past unsullied 
days ! Can a heart outgrow that which is 
instilled within it as the flavor of the wine is 
instilled within the grape ? No, no ! but the 
sweetest wine, under certain conditions, can be 
transformed into vinegar. The fairest flower, if 
put from the sun’s rays, will soon become a fes- 
tered weed !” 

There ensued a brief silence, during which 
Alice sat with troubled eyes bent upon the fire- 
lit lilies of the carpet, and her hands restlessly 
clasping and unclasping themselves in her lap. 

Presently she looked up and said contritely : 

“ I am sorry if I spoke unfeelingly, Hortense. 
Forgive me, dear; but I — I never dreamed but 
that you were perfectly happy ” 

“ Hush, say no more,” returned Lady Hortense, 
and she bent down and kissed her. “With you 
here,” she went on, as she drew herself, with a 


IN PROSPECTIVE 


73 


visible effort, out of her dejection, I am perfectly 
happy. Now let us speak ot the coming event — 
our ball I I have an enormous afternoon’s work 
before me, and shall need your assistance. There 
are between three and four hundred invitations 
to address for the ball, and others for the ensuing 
house party. Here is the list. I will read it over 
to you.” 

She read to the bottom of the first page, and 
turned the leaf : 

“ The Forresters, Mrs. Rossmore, the Morris- 
ons, the Dextrells, the Arundels, the El woods, 
Mr. Volney — ” She glanced up suddenly as she 
read the unfamiliar name. 

“ By the way, Alice,” said she, “ you must 
have met this young Volney at Ivendene whilst 
you were there last month ?” 

She failed to note the girl’s suddenly agitated 
manner, and the flush that dyed her face a violent 
crimson. 

“ Yes. He arrived just the evening after 
mamma and I,” Alice replied calmly. 

I have been told he is very handsome. Is he ?” 

“ Yes, quite so. Valois says he is like the bust 
of Glaucus, which you brought from Florence.” 

“ What is his first name ?” 

Thayer.” 

“ T-h-a-y-e-r.” Lady Camden pronounced 
each letter as she wrote the name. “ Thayer ! 
how very rarely one hears that name,” said she, 


74 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“it has always been one of my favorites. Mr. 
Thayer Volney, Mr. Fred Bentwell, Captain 
Pometer — ” and she read on to the end of the 
list. 

It was almost night ere the two ladies concluded 
the task of sealing and addressing the envelopes ; 
but at last they were all stamped and ready for 
the mail bag, and Thayer Volney’s name was lost 
among the hundreds there. 

That night, as Alice Meredith stood again at 
her window casement, encompassed in the moon’s 
light, looking down upon the golden, shining belt 
of the river, she seemed to hear repeated, over 
and over again, in the subtil-e monitone of the 
flowing waters, that one sentence : “ Thayer is 
coming I Thayer is coming !” and her listening 
soul seemed to swell in deep and unspeakable 
ecstacy, as it took up the sound and answered 
back the echo, “ Thayer is coming I Thayer is 
coming !” 

When she had sought her pillow and all the 
moonlight had gone, leaving her room strangely 
dark and still, she could not hear that name 
repeated more. She could not find in those chaos- 
deeps the pair of dark magnetic eyes whose 
power it was to thrill her so : the voice and that 
pair of eyes seemed to have vanished with the 
charm of the moonlight, and in their place she 
saw a pale, sad face, and heard the voice of her 
friend crying out : 


IN PROSPECTIVE 


75 


Do not, oh do not refer to those past, unsul- 
lied days ! Can a heart outgrow that which is 
instilled within it as the flavor of the wine is 
instilled within the grape ? No : but the sweet- 
est wine, under certain conditions, can be trans- 
formed into vinegar. The fairest flower, if put 
from the sun’s rays, will soon become a festered 
weed.” 

“ Oh, can it be ?” she asked her troubled heart, 
“ can it be she does not love Sir Philip Camden ? 
Can it be that her union with him has robbed her 
life of all its sun and embittered it ?” 

The thought dwelt with her all the night long. 
It would not let her sleep. 


CHAPTER X 


VALOIS’ SECRET 


1 wait for my story— the birds cannot sing it. 


Not one as he sits on the tree; 

The bells cannot ring it, but long years, oh bring it ! 
Such as 1 wish it to he. 


“Song OP Seven” —Jean Ingelow. 



‘HE mid-November day, which since its birth 


1 had been swathed in heavy vaporous gloom, 
was prematurely nearing a close. 

Though it was yet scarce four o’clock, the pale, 
bluish glimmer of electric lights broke out here 
and there in the dense atmosphere, and the wary 
lamp-lighter had commenced his nightly round 
through the thoroughfares, murmuring to himself 
as he touched the jets into animation, that a 
storm was “ brewin’ aloft.” 

True to his prophecy, the night fluttered in on 
wings of “ eider-down,” which, even in their 
lightness, swept away all the heavy vapors, 
making the air a precinct for their revelry alone. 

A young man, who for some moments had been 
standing in the door-way of a prominent jewelry 
store on Washington street, meditatively watch- 
ing the dizzily-whirling snow-flakes as they fast 
thickened in the gloaming, at length turned, and 


(76) 


VALOIS SECRET 


77 


approaching the center of the store, where a 
young lady stood with her pretty face bent 
intently over a jewelry tray, he said : 

“ Valois, it has commenced to snow and the 
horses are getting restless. Have you about con- 
cluded as to which broach you will take ? ” 

No,” said Valois, without lifting her face from 
the tray, “ my taste is so capricious that I cannot 
decide. Isn’t this a fond invention ? ” she asked, 
signifying a miniature harp which was formed of 
diamonds and emeralds,” and isn’t this beetle 
unique ? Of the two, which would be your 
choice ? ” 

“ The harp,” said the young Englishman, 
promptly, so the question was settled in his favor 
without further hesitation ; and a few moments 
later the young couple quitted the jewelers and, 
entering their carriage, were driven homeward 
through the storm. 

They were both unusually quiet during that 
half-hour’s ride. 

Valois, fatigued after a tedious afternoon’s 
shopping, reclined in her corner, luxuriously at 
ease among the velvet cushions, while her com- 
panion gazed abstractedly out of the window, 
inwardly rebuking himself for being so stupidly 
at loss for words to engross and entertain his fair 
cousin. 

“ Surely,” thought he, “ during the last fort- 


78 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


night Valois must have found me unbearably 
dull 1 ” 

Since coming to town the two cousins had been 
on a ceaseless round of pleasures. They had 
given liberal attention to the opera, the drama, 
the art-rooms, the historical building, the mar- 
kets, the manufactories ; yet all the while 
Thayer Volney had felt himself a selfish ingrate 
in the hands of her hospitality. 

With pretty Valois Elwood at his side, any 
other young man would have been satisfied and 
happy, beyond a single desire or regret ; but he, 
Thayer, while proud and tenderly fond of his 
American cousin, attended her everywhere in a 
half-hearted fashion, with his mind always pre- 
occupied with memories of another face, and 
other days when it had been his ecstacy to know 
that Alice Meredith and himself were breathing 
under the self-same roof. Each day had brought 
to him its details of pleasure since he had last 
looked upon the face which lived paramount in 
his memory from morn till night, from night till 
morn, and would not be obliterated by any scene, 
however alluring, however beautiful, however 
strange to him. Yet it had seemed years to 
him since the morning when Valois had said : 

‘‘ Alice has left town — gone to sojourn indefi- 
nitely at Maplehurst, — some miles distant from 

T » 


VALOIS' SECRET 


79 


“ Maplehurst ! oh, that is far ! ” he had said 
while looking upward at the stars that night. 

But the heart they say is farther-reaching than 
the voice, and so, perhaps, she knew that his 
thoughts were of her then. * 

Ah, yes,” said Thayer, “ I think she will feel 
me near her. I do not think Maplehurst is 
further than love can reach, but I would I could 
annihilate that word ‘ indefinitely.’ How many 
days and nights, nay, how many weary weeks 
and months will be measured in that term of 
cruel suspense ?” 

Only two weeks had passed since Valois had 
told him this, and yet he would already circum- 
scribe years unto the time. 

“I had forgotten to tell you, Thayer,” said 
Valois, starting abruptly from her semi-darkened 
corner into animation, ‘4hat I had a long letter 
from Alice Meredith, this morning, — ” 

Silence. 

Valois wondered if he had heard. Thayer 
wondered if his fierce heart-throbs were audible 
to other ears than his own. 

“ She seems wonderfully happy and contented 
at Maplehurst.” 

Silence. 

The friendly darkness kept the pallor of his 
face a secret unto itself. 

“ I think it is so much nicer for her to be there 
than here in town, working her very life away in 


80 


THE BRIDE OF JHFELICE 


a conservatory of music. You know she is acting 
as a kind of companion to Lady Camden.^’ 

He essayed to speak, but realizing the common- 
placeness of his words ere they were framed, he 
repressed them and merely shifted his position 
to assure his cousin that he was not asleep, that 
he was listening. 

“ I’d imagine, though, that the position would 
be a trifle embarrassing to her, for Sir Philip is 
always having people — by the way, in behalf of 
Lady Camden, Alice importunes us not to make 
any engagements for the week after next, as they 
are to give a ball at Maplehurst, followed by a 
house-party. The invitations were all to be 
sent to-day, I believe. I want you to see Maple- 
hurst,” added the young girl. “ It is built on a 
kind of bluff overlooking the Merrimac, and is 
one of the finest estates we have, being built after 
the old English castellated style, and furnished 
something after the custom of your continent.” 

“ Then you will accept the invitations to Lady 
Camden’s ball?” observed Thayer, as he feigned a 
yawn of indifference, and again shifted his posi- 
tion. 

“ Yes, oh, yes, I hope so ! I should die of sheer 
disappointment if I had to miss such a social 
treat as this will be,” cried Valois, with eager 
enthusiasm. “ You know,” she went on, “ I have 
only been ‘ out ’ a short time, Alice and I having 
made our dehut together at Mrs. Carruthers’ ball 


VALOIS’ SECRET 


81 


last August. The event was in honor of her son, 
Lieutenant Gershon Carruthers, who had just re- 
turned with his ship from India after an absence 
of nearly three years. Oh, cousin Thayer ! ” she 
added in an estatic undertone as she leaned for- 
ward until her face was on a level with his own, 
“ he will he there ! ’’ , 

Thayer took her face between his hands and 
gazed into it as well as the darkness would per- 
mit. 

“He will be there, eh ? and, oh, Valois, you 
will be glad ? ” he asked, tenderly. 

She fain would have shrunk away from him 
back into her corner with her secret but half con- 
fessed, but he held her closely and whispered 
imperatively : 

“ Tell me all about it. Tell me all about this 
naval officer whose brass buttons and epaulets 
have had such power to fascinate you, little coz ? ” 

She felt her face burning hot and thought him 
aggressive beyond forgiveness. 

“ Thayer, I will not — ” she commenced, rebel- 
liously. 

“ Oh, yes, you shall, you must ! ” he interrupted 
with exasperating authority. 

“ Well he — he is just the very nicest man I ever 
met — there ! ” 

“ What else ? ” 

“ There is nothing else. Release me, tyrant 1 


82 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


if you do not release me I shall never speak to 
you again.” 

“ Very well ; I shall not release you, however^ 
until you have made a full confession of your love 
affa — Good heavens ! here we are, home!” Thayer 
broke off, as the carriage stopped abruptly. He 
sprang out and assisted Valois to the white ground 
and they ran together through the almost impen- 
etrable darkness and thickly whirling flakes up 
the steps to the vestibule. Here in the rays of 
the lantern their eyes met. Valois^ shone out 
above her sables with shy mirth, yet she feigned 
a dignity ludicrously at variance with this as, for 
the second time she branded him a “tyrant.” 

“If you divulge my secret,” said she, “or in 
any manner allude to it in the future, I shall 
abhor you, 'positively , but her laughter floated 
down to him as she reached the top of the stairs 
and sped along the hall toward her room ; and 
this told him, despite her words, that she trusted 
him with her secret implicitly. 

Half an hour later they met at dinner. During 
the meal the forthcoming ball and house-party 
were discussed, and it was decided that a note of 
acceptance should be sent to Maplehurst on the 
following day. 

Later in the evening Valois said to her cousin : 

“ Why, Thayer, what has come over you to- 
make you look so happy to-night ? You have not 
looked so affable since we came to town. Are you 


VALOIS' SECRET 


glad we are to go to Maplehurst ? She looked 
him steadily in the eyes as she spoke, and he read 
in her glance a look of intelligence that made 
him start ; he collected himself, however, at once 
and answered briefly. “ Yes ; I am glad.’^ 

There ensued an eloquent division of survey, 
after which they felt they understood and could 
henceforth sympathize with one another pro- 
foundly. 


CHAPTER XI 


THE BUST OF QLAUCUS. 


An image uncertain 


And vague, dimly shaped itself forth on the curtain 
Of the darkness around her. It came and it went: 
Through her senses a faint sense of peril it sent. 


Lucile. ”—O t(;en Meredith. 


HE nighPs darkness was so intense that the 



1 fast-driven snow fell undiscernable, and the 
course of the luckless country wayfarer was only 
defined by the fitful light shed abroad by car- 
riage lamp, or hand-swung lantern. 

Sir Philip Camden’s horses made but sluggish 
progress on their way over the storm-swept high- 
way toward Maplehurst ; even though the driver 
made unremitting and merciless cuts at them 
with the lash, and urged and jerked their bits 
until the blood oozed from, and congealed upon 
their nostrils. 

Sir Philip, alternately dozing and imprecating 
the fates who thus deterred him from the com- 
forts of his fireside, at length flung open the 
carriage door and called out vehemently to the 
driver : 

“ Wake up those devilish horses, will you ? ” 

“ I can’t make ’em go no faster, yer honor. The 
snow be right in their faces.” 


( 84 ) 


THE BUST OF 6LAUCUS 


85 


“ Snow, be d I Wake up those brutes, I 

say ; wake them up, dolt I dullard ! ” 

“ Swish ! crack ! swish ! crack ! ’’ 

The exertion was a futile one. At the cruelly 
wielded and repeated blows only piteous neighs 
came from the struggling animals ; the vehicle 
jogged along at the same dilatory gait as before, 
and Sir Philip was forced to slam the door shut 
against the obtrusive wind and snowflakes, and 
subside again into sullen and impatient luxury 
among the rugs and cushions of his carriage. 

It was after nine o’clock when they reached 
Maplehurst and an hour later when Sir Philip, 
having made his toilet and dined alone, entered 
the drawing-i^)om, whose only occupant was 
Lady Hortense. 

She was seated at a small stand a short dis- 
tance from the grate, engaged with a piece of 
antique embroidery. The bright light from the 
fire played upon her ruby velvet gown, giving 
each soft fold, as it fell about her, every separate, 
glowing shade of the gem from which it was 
named ; while the tinted Dresden lamp, which 
sat on the stand, shed a delicate glow over her 
profile, making it a perfect cameo in a frame of 
ebony. 

Sir Philip thought, as he stood for a moment on 
the threshold, looking at her, that she made a pic- 
ture which Gainsborough, or Titian, would have 
given pre-eminence in their studios, “ and one,” 


86 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


he added, “ which three months ago I myself 
could not have looked upon without being 
infatuated.” 

Lady Hortense glanced up listlessly as he 
stood thus in contemplation of her. 

“You must have had a cheerless ride, Sir 
Philip,” she said, letting her eyes return imme- 
diately to the bright threads of her embroidery. 
“ I had dinner kept back for you till eight,” she 
added, as she drew the golden stitch a trifle 
tighter. 

He watched the flash of diamonds upon her 
moving hand for a moment in sullen silence. 

“ It might have been a deucedly more pleasant 
ride ; and — a— the dinner was not improved, I 
dare say, by being kept back so long,” he said at 
length, with his characteristic drawl. 

As he spoke he drew an easy chair to the grate 
and seated himself. 

There ensued a protracted silence, during 
which she felt instinctively his keen, cold eyes 
upon her, as she always felt them when alone in 
his presence, and her hand grew a trifle unsteady 
as it guided the glinting thread back and forth, 
and those stitches made on the wing of the touraco 
— a bird of the orient — were less regular than 
former ones. 

The moments of her life which Lady Hortense 
had come to dread mostly, were those which com- 
pelled her to sit alone as she was now sitting, 


THE BUST OF GLAUCUS 


87 


under the fixed gaze of those cruel eyes. At 
such times she felt an almost overmastering de- 
sire to throw herself on her knees before him and 
cry out all her misery and despair, at not being 
capable of feeline any of that sentiment for him 
which a wife should feel for her husband, and 
which she had striven hard to learn but could 
not. 

If he had had that power of magnetism in his 
being which might have drawn her to him, with 
even a feeling of esteem or true deference — that 
controlling fascination, which in some men is 
their very breath, and which has been known to 
engender love in the coldest of hearts, it might 
have triumphed over her in time. But Sir Philip 
had naught of this in his cold, egotistical temper- 
ament. Gradually had she come to find him 
callous and unresponsive as steel to all the finer 
instincts of nature, and since that night when she 
had laid bare to him her loveless heart even the 
touch of his hand had grown repellent to her ; in 
some vague way it seemed to contaminate her, 
and there were times when she shuddered 
inwardly at the sound of his voice, in which there 
was always such ineffable, though underlying 
contempt when speaking to her. 

She had come to interpret the true nature 
which lay disguised under that courteousness 
which he invariably adopted in society, and 
which made him popular. She alone surmised 


88 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


how narrow and mean that nature was, and how 
artificial were his manners. By her woman’s wit 
she read him. She knew that he had not a 
single thought or impulse but what was deep- 
rooted with selfishness, and that his every ambi- 
tion was entirely self-centered. She perceived all 
this, and herself imbued with a nature which 
made her revolt against what she divined in him, 
she knew that each day of their lives must 
divide them farther apart, instead of reconciling 
them to each other. 

A servant came in to renew the fire and after 
sweeping up the hearth, withdrew noiselessly. Yet 
Sir Philip sat without unriveting his gaze from 
her profile ; still Lady Hortense sat nervousl}’- 
drawing the bullion threads of her embroidery ; 
still oppressive silence reigned throughout the 
luxurious apartment, broken only by the soft frou- 
frou of snowflakes as they fell against the closely 
shuttered windows without, or the low soughing 
of winds through the dismantled trees. 

Lady Hortense could bear the strain no longer. 
She let her bullion skeins fall into the frame, and 
rose. The action had been impulsive and with- 
out any forethought of what her next step would 
be. She stood there irresolutely with one jeweled 
hand pressing upon the onyx stand, the other 
toying with a spray of stephenotis which she wore 
low on her bodice. Should she make some pre- 
text to leave the room, or should she go to the 


THE BUST OF GLAUCUS 


89 


piano and play something ? The first would look 
awkward and unconventional withal ; the latter 
would be simply in accordance with her almost 
nightly habit when there were no guests at Maple- 
hurst, as was the case to-night. 

She turned toward the instrument, but had 
scarcely taken a step when Sir Philip’s voice ar- 
rested her. 

Lady Hortense — a — pray, my dear, I do not 
feel in a mood for Wagner nor Beethoven to-night. 
I want to talk over the ball and house-party with 
you.” 

Lady Camden turned and slowly approached 
the grate, where she stood towering above him in 
all her proud loveliness, like a young queen. 

She rested one arm upon the corner of the 
mantelpiece and directed her glance toward him 
expectantly. 

“Well?” said she, simply, and while there 
was in the word a quiet submission to his wish 
there was also in it an intonation of austerity 
which made him glance swiftly up at her, and 
then laugh a low, noiseless, mirthless laugh which 
she never could hear without an involuntary 
shiver. 

“Well,” said he, when the convulsion had 
passed, “pray sit.” He motioned toward a low 
fauteuilj as he spoke, which was convenient to her, 
and she seated herself on this with an obedience 
which was humiliating to her, yet which her 


90 


THE BRIDE OF hS FELICE 


pride would not let her rebel against. Then he 
said, still keeping his eyes upon her, with some 
of their recent amusement still in them : 

“Don’t you know, my dear, a — you please me 
amazingly to-night; a — you affect inanimate 
colors so much that one is apt to come to regard 
you almost as a statue, or a vestal virgin ; but 
to-night — a — you are as brilliant as you ever 
were inanimate before, and I — a — am amazingly 
pleased — yes ! ” 

At his words Lady Hortense’s lips curled them- 
selves half-contemptuously. She very often heard 
him speak in this suave, courteous tone to other 
ladies, but he seldom, in fact, had never adopted it 
toward herself since the night when she had con- 
fessed her indifference of him, excepting at such 
times when conventionality required it in the all- 
hearing ears of the world. 

“ T never knew,” said she, “ that you were so 
distinct as to preference in colors. I have always 
liked white, and as you say, I have worn it con- 
siderably of late months It harmonizes with my 
colorless life,” she added to herself, “but,” she 
went on, “ I will endeavor to suit my toilet more 
in accordance with your taste in future. Sir 
Philip.” 

“ I hope,” returned Sir Philip, “ you will under- 
stand you are not to thwart your own pleasure with 
respect to such trivial matters. Wear what pleases 
you, only deport yourself properly as Lady Cam- 


THE BUST OF GLAUCUS 


91 


den. I don’t want the world to say that I have 
made a marble image of you, or an ice-plant. 
Now, will you favor me with the names of those 
you have invited ? ” 

With keen bitterness within her. Lady Hor- 
tense rose to go in quest of the list, but he stayed 
her as she reached the door, saying : 

‘‘A — never mind the paper. I suppose you 
have asked no one out of the usual set we meet 
everywhere ? ” 

“I believe there are two exceptions,” said Lady 
Camden, “ Captain Pometer, a present guest of 
the Dextrells, and Mr. Thayer Volney of England, 
a nephew of Mrs. Elwood, and only recently ar- 
rived.” 

“ Pometer ! ” repeated Sir Philip, musingly, 
“ I know him, I believe ; but this Englishman ? 
a — is he very young, say three or four and 
twenty ? ” 

“ I cannot say, as I have never seen him,” re- 
sponded Hortense, Lady Camden. 

“ If he is the fellow whom I saw on the street 
in Boston the other day with Valois Elwood, he 
has certainly a most striking appearance ; he is, 
in fact, a — what you ladies would deify — a Greek 
god.” 

“ A Greek god.” Lady Hortense repeated al- 
most unconsciously to herself the words ; and as 
she did so she lifted her eyes to the mantel upon 
which stood a Parian bust of marvelous beauty, 


/ 


92 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


and they softened with a carious, tender light as 
they rested upon the faultlessly cast features, 
enveiled in their expression of kindness and in- 
tellectuality. 

Sir Philip, watching her under his drooping 
eyelids, saw the look which almost transfigured 
her- face, and an ominous frown gathered above 
his thick, overhanging brows. 

“You are a devoid of the classic ? ” he said, and 
his words were rather in the declarative than 
questioning tone, and were spoken with sneering 
contempt. 

Then without waiting for her to reply, he asked: 

“ Where did you get that bust ? Who is the 
subject ? I have never taken special notice of it 
before.” 

“ I bought it in Florence when we were abroad 
last winter. It is of the Athenian Glaucus. The 
bust opposite is that of lone,” said Lady Hor- 
tense. 

“I remember the subjects vaguely as those of 
Bulwer,” observed Sir Philip. 

“ I remember them as two of the loveliest and 
noblest characters in the annals of fiction,” ex- 
claimed Lady Hortense fervently. 

“ Of fiction, or of love ? ” questioned Sir Philip, 
insidiously. 

“ Well, if you will, of love, which is the truest 
application, indeed.” 

Sir Philip pressed his lips firmly together, as 


THE BUST OE QLAUCUS 


93 


though to repress some words which might have 
risen to them. Then he rose and measured the 
room with deliberate step, with his hands clasped 
behind him and his head bent slightly forward. 
The attitude was that which he always assumed 
in moments of suppressed anger, and Lady Hor- 
tense watched him in some concern. 

At length he returned to the hearth. “ I have 
some letters to write,” he said shortly, and then 
without another word he left her. 

When he was gone Lady Camden once more 
turned her eyes upon the bust of the hero Glau 
cus, letting them rest upon the marble image for 
some moments in a fixed gaze. 

Then these words came faintly from her lips : 

“ Once in my life have I seen a face which re- 
sembled that, both in feature and expression. 
Valois says hor cousin is like my Glaucus. Sir 
Philip says he is like a Greek gcd. Could he by 

any possible chance be . Oh, how absurd ; 

how perfectly absurd 1 That would be consistent 
with fiction only. Such a remarkable coinci- 
dence is rarely met with in real life”; and she 
put the thought from her entirely. But just be- 
fore she turned to quit the room she bent her 
regal head over the image of Glaucus and touched 
it with her lips. ‘‘ How happy,” she murmured, 
must Tone have been with such a hero to love 
her I” 


CHAPTER XII 


A WATCH-WORD 

Onr acts our angels are, or good or ill, 

Our fatal shadows that walk by us still. 

—Fletcher. 

F or several days the snow continued to fall, 
with short intermissions ; hut with the full 
moon came a change in the weather, and the daz- 
zling white-mantled earth froze into a staid 
solidity which offered its season of exuberant 
sports to the pleasure-loving world. 

Ere the abatement of the storm, Sir Philip had 
suggested to Lady Camden the postponement of 
their forthcoming festivities until a less inclemert 
season ; hut as he saw the elements subsiding 
into peace, and watched the sovereign moon sail 
in victorious sublimity over the white-capped 
hills beyond Maplehurst, he rubbed his fat hands 
together with renewed ambition, declaring that 
his entertainments would prove doubly attractive 
with a seven-mile ride from the railway station, 
over a road as smooth and solid as ivory, and with 
an hundred silvern sleigh bells to make inspiring 
accompaniment for song and laughter. 

Thus, with his spirit set at ease on the throne 
of anticipation the night preceding that appointed 
for the ball arrived. 


( 94 ) 


A WATCH WORD 


96 


He had spent two hours after dinner in looking 
over the menu card, which the caterers had sub- 
mitted to him, and in an interview with those 
worthies — which made the last of a series of 
seven, in every one of which he had forcibly ex- 
pressed his pedant desire that each and every 
dish was to be served strictly on the European, 
and not the American plan — and now it was the 
half hour past ten, and he sat alone in his library 
absorbed in the day’s newspapers. He had read 
the stock reports, he had scanned two columns of 
dialogue which had taken place that day in court 
apropos of a noted divorce case ; he had read the 
latest social slander, and now his eye wandered 
to the column of coming society events. Over 
most of the items he passed after a casual glance, 
but about half way down the line his eye became 
fixed with heightened interest. The paragraph 
he read was this : 

“ie beau monde is now at the threshold of 
the most important society event of the season : 
The Camden ball will take place at Maplehurst 
to-morrow night ; and it is expected that Sir 
Philip and the charming Lady Camden will en- 
tertain their guests in a manner that will be 
royally elaborate and splendid.” 

As Sir Philip read this his usually cadaverous 
face fluSied suddenly, and he passed his hand- 
kerchief across his brow in a gesture which 
further bespoke his agitation. He re-read the 
item, then, laying the paper aside, he folded his 


96 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


arms and leaned backward in his chair, with 
these words of Shakespeare on his lips : 

Men at sometlmea are masters of their fates. 

The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, 

But in ourselves that we are underlings. 

“ Underlings !” he ground the word from be- 
tween his teeth with a sneer in which there was a 
“ laughing devil,” but his lips grew livid and 
seemed to writhe with some undercurrent of 
emotion as again he took up the newspaper to 
read, or, rather, to stare blankly at the type with 
eyes which seemed aflame with some nefarious 
fire. 

For some moments he remained sitting in this 
distrait attitude, then suddenly, and with an 
audible curse, he crushed the journal into a 
shapeless heap upon the table, and,, rising, strode 
over to the bell and rang it vehemently. In a 
moment his summons was answered by a liveried 
footman. 

“ Send the coachman to me immediately,” said 
Sir Philip peremptorily, and in the brusque tone 
that he generally used when addressing his ser- 
vants. 

The man withdrew, and the master of Maple- 
hurst filled in the interval of waiting by pacing 
restlessly up and down the room. • 

“ Your honor sent for me ? ” 

“ Yes, a — did you order those trappings and 
bells as I commanded you ? ” 


A WATCH WORD 


97 


“ Yes, yer honor ; they came this afternoon.” 

Aside from the sleigh, which Barton will drive, 
I wish you to have runners put to the brougham, 
and drive to meet the 3: 40 and 5: 40 trains from 
Boston to-morrow afternoon.” 

“ Oh ! yer honor, there won’t be trappings or 
robes enough.” 

“ Get trappings ; get robes, dolt I Go the first 
thing in the morning to Boston and get what will 
be necessary to complete the turn-out.” 

The man bowed, then stood awaiting further 
orders ; but Sir Philip turned and resumed his 
restless promenade, whereupon he took his dis- 
missal for granted, and started to go ; ere he 
reached the door, however, he was arrested by 
that peculiar drawl : 

“ A — you have not noticed a strange man 
lurking about the premises lately, have you ? ” 

“No, yer honor.” 

“You are certain ? ” 

“ Quite certain.” 

“ You may go.” 

Left alone, again Sir Philip threw himself in 
the chair which he had previously occupied at the 
reading table, and with one elbow resting there- 
upon, and his forehead bowed to his palm, he 
remained long in motionless silence — a silence so 
intensely profound that when at length there 
came a sharp little rattling sound against the 


98 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


window, he started like one abruptly awakened 
from sound sleep. 

“ What was that ? What is here?” he mut- 
tered audibly ; and his voice sounded strained 
and unnatural ; while again his lips grew pale, 
and the muscles about them underwent a visible 
contortion. 

The next instant, however, his composure 
returned as reason answered him reassuringly, 
saying ; 

“ It was but an ice-clad tendril of ivy hanging 
pendant against the pane and made restive by 
the wind.” 

In that small sound had some grim phantom 
of the past come back to haunt and mock you, oh 
Sir Philip Camden ? 

As he looked toward the window he noticed for 
the first time that the shutters were slightly 
open, and once more he rose and crossed the room 
to shut them with the same sullen violence that 
he had used a few moments since in crushing the 
unoffending newspaper. Then for the second 
time he stepped to the bell and rang it. 

His servants were prompt in obeying any sum- 
mons from him, and the door opened the next 
moment to admit his valet. 

“Tate, I wish to confer — be seated — I wish to 
confer with you, upon a matter of confidence — of 
the utmost confidence ; you understand ? ” 

The valet bowed attentively. 


A WATCH WORD 


99 


“ For three consecutive nights,” continued Sir 
Philip, “ I have been shadowed the whole distance 
from Boston to Maplehurst.” 

“ Shadowed ? Sir Philip I ” 

“Yes, shadowed; followed vigilantlyand stealth- 
ily by some person whose design must' be as evil 
as it is deep-hidden and insidious. Now, I want 
you to serve me.” 

“ If it lies within my power to serve you, Sir 
Philip, I can know no greater honor,” said the 
man, elevated in his own estimation several de- 
grees at the thought of being taken into his 
master’s trust ; for Sir Philip was a man of mag- 
isterial attitude toward his servants, and they all 
stood in awe of him. 

“To-morrow at nightfall,” went on Sir Philip, 
“you will conceal yourself in the shrubberies 
near the carriage entrance, and watch there until 
ten o’clock to see if any strange person loiters 
about surreptitiously. After that hour come to 
me with any report, however trivial, you may 
have to make.” 

“ It will be—” 

“ Chut I some one is coming. Go, now ; and 
remember that motto, ‘ on counait Vami au hesoiUy 
a friend is known in the time of need.” 


CHAPTER XIII 


BEWARE I 

I cannot tell how the truth may be ; 

I say the tale as 'twas said to me. 

( ( II /TIL ADI, a messenger has just called and 
iVl left this parcel for you.” 

Lady Hortense, who was standing at the win- 
dow of her private sitting-room looking out upon 
the snow-bright landscape, turned at her maid^s 
words and glanced at the neatly wrapped and 
labelled package in her hands. 

“It is my ball dress,” said she in a tone of 
relief. “ I had feared that Madame would not 
be able to get it finished: I gave the order so late.” 

As she spoke, Anine stood with a bewildered 
look on her pretty face. 

“ Why, miladi ! Your ball dress ? I do not 
understand. I have laid out the beautiful cream 
faille toilet which I thought you had ordered 
especially for to-night.” 

“ I forgot to tell you of my changed plan ; in- 
deed good Anine, I have been so occupied for the 
past few days with the numerous details of dec- 
oration, and so forth, that I have scarcely given 
myself a thought. Open the box. I am certain 
( 100 ) 


BEWARE! 


301 


you will commend the new dress. I have worn 
white so much — you yourself have often suggested 
a change, and Sir Philip, I imagined, would be 
pleased.’* 

“ Oh, miladi ! ” the girl cried, in ardent admir- 
ation, as she shook out all those shining folds of 
amethist velvet, “it is splendid I It is lovely I 
Also, the color is well a lap ted to your dark style 
of beauty ) yet, alas,” she added, with a little 
money “ I regret the cream faille. I prefer the 
naivetS of your former costumes.” 

“ Well,” said Lady Hortense, with a little in- 
dulgent smile, (she was very fond of her devoted 
maid) “ I will wear the other dress on some early 
occasion to please you. Has mamma’s head 
grown any better ? ” she questioned, anxiously, 
as Anine laid the gleaming robes carefully aside. 

“ I have not been to madame’s apartments since 
luncheon ; but as I came along the hall I thought 
I heard her talking with Miss Meredith in the 
back drawing-room.” 

“Then she is better — certainly. I will go — 
Ah, mamma, dearest ! ” she exclaimed, turning 
lovingly toward a lady of middle age and digni- 
fied bearing, who at that moment entered the 
room through the half open door. 

“ My dear Hortense, I have to congratulate you 
upon the extraordinary taste which you have 
exercised in the decorations downstairs. Truly, 
every room is a separate dream-like conception 


102 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


of Elysium 1 ” said Mrs. Ayers, with quiet enthus- 
iasm, as she offered her cheek to be kissed. “ You 
see,” she added, “ I have been trespassing on for- 
bidden ground.” 

“ I am so glad you are pleased,” said her daugh- 
ter. “ I had been intending to show you through 
the rooms before any of the guests should arrive. 
Do you feel quite rested ? Is your head better ? 
Can I make you a cup of tea ? ” 

“ My child , you quite overwhelm me with your 
pretty solicitudes,” gasped Mrs. Ayers, as she 
sank languidly into a luxurious chair. ‘‘I do 
feel rested, and am certain to be quite myself 
after a cup of your delicious green tea,” she re- 
plied ; whereupon Lady Hortense rang for the 
tray and things to be brought at once. 

‘‘ I wanted,” continued Mrs. Ayers, to come 
out by the late train last night, but my headache 
grew so violent that I was forced to forego the 
project, and really feared that I should be com- 
pelled to abandon it altogether.” 

Oh, mamma ! if you had, how then should I 
possibly have managed ? You know how I 
always depend on you at such trying times as 
this. And Sir Philip, I am sure, would have been 
in despair. His chief aspiration is to make v his 
entertainments a success ; and he has always 
relied so upon you to manage them,” cried Lady 
Hortense, with unpolitic candor, which, though 
it exalted, also annoyed the elder lady. 


beware I 


103 


‘^You, Hortense, forgive me, child, if I say 
that you, as Sir Philip Camden^s wife, should 
be gaining more self-reliance. You do not 
appreciate your exceptional advantages, I am 
afraid,” she said, with subtle rebuke. 

I am afraid not,” conceded her daughter 
readily, an(P with a queer smile upon her face. 

To be worldly one must have that most neces- 
sary of all incentives.” 

“ What ? I do not quite follow you, my dear,’' 
said Mrs. Ayers. 

“ I say, to be worldly in a truly scientific way, 
one must have that most necessary of all incent- 
ives — ambition ! I am not ambitious, mamma.” 

Mrs. Ayers raised her white, very much bejew- 
eled, hand deprecatingly. 

Not ambitious !” she repeated, and as she 
spoke there was a visible expansion of the blue 
veins about her temples. “ You tell me this ? 
which is equivalent to saying, ‘ I am indifferent 
as to the position which I have achieved, and 
which might render any other woman’s life an 
hourly triumph,’ Your assertion is exorbitant ! 
It is extravagant almost to madness. Are you 
utterly without filial feeling ? Is your stoicism 
so intense that during the eleven months of your 
married life you have not roused yourself to any 
sense of filial gratitude to me for having managed 
your alliance with Sir Philip Camden so success- 
fully ?” 


104 


TEE BRIDE OF lEFELICE 


Her daughter, who had been deftly arranging 
the tea things, looked up quickly, and now hot 
tears gathered in her eyes, while her lips quivered 
uncontrolably, as she said : 

“Mamma, as Hortense Ayers was I always 
selfish, obdurate, stoical, unfilial ? Did you 
find me always a disappointing chilci — one want- 
ing in every sense of love and gratitude to you ?’^ 

“No, no ; certainly not ! You were to me the 
embodiment of tenderness and love, and obedi- 
ence. Hortense, you were the one incentive of 
my life after your father died. My every ambi- 
tion was centered in you ; that was why I played 
so high to secure your future welfare. But 
now ” 

“ Oh cried Lady Hortense, suddenly inter- 
rupting her, “You will never know how very far 
you fell of your mark, mamma I You planned a 
blessing and there has sprung from it a curse 1” 

“ Think,” pursued Mrs. Ayers, pretending not 
to have heard her, and her voice sounded again 
with its former implacable austerity; “ think how 
many mothers of our set were angling for the po- 
sition which I secured for you ; and they say 
that pretty Louise Gardener’s decline was due 
chiefly to her disappointment in love — you 
remember Sir Philip did shoTV her marked atten- 
tion at onetime.” 

“ He was engaged to her,” said Lady Hortense. 


BEWARE! 


105 


He has boastfully told me of the cruel way in 
which he jilted her.” 

‘‘Yes ? Ah, well, my dear, there are such ex- 
periences in almost every life — romances which 
in the end amount to nothing.’^ 

“ Nothing ? And you say that in this in- 
stance a sweet, young, and innocent life was 
sacrificed I Oh, mamma !” Lady Hortense’s 
voice was full of unutterable pain, and her breath 
came quickly as she fixed great stricken eyes 
upon her mother’s face. 

For a moment Mrs. Ayers went on sipping her 
tea in silence. She was a woman of diplomacy, 
and that she had for once forgotten to be dis- 
creet in her argument both embarrassed and 
vexed her. 

She looked up presently. 

“ I did not say that Louise actually died of dis- 
appointment, Hortense. I do not think she could 
have loved him to such an extent. I think the 
immediate cause of her death was consumption. 
But you know, my dear, that in all such affairs 
the world will have its separate and various con- 
ceptions. No,” she added, “ I am quite sure the 
affaire with Sir Philip had nothing to do, virtu- 
ally, with her death. She did not love him to that 
excess.” 

“ Love him ! No. I do not think that Louise 
could have loved Sir Philip Camden,” her daugh- 
ter said, and there was visible revolt in her tone. 


106 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


‘^No, no,” echoed her experienced heart, ^‘she 
could not by any possible chance have loved 
him.” 

Mrs. Ayers noted the intonation of revolt, and 
again the veins on her temples expanded. She 
made no effort now to repress her vexation, but 
said derisively : 

‘‘ Why I do you then find it impossible to 
imagine any woman as being in love with the 
man whom you, through what is nothing more 
nor less than a narrow-minded prejudice, have 
sealed your heart against ? Your creed is 
malevolent in the extreme, and becomes at once 
an indignity to yourself and an effrontery to the 
man whose name you bear. Sir Philip Camden, 
knowing the exact attitude which you have 
assumed toward him, would hate you ! Beware, 
oh Hortense, Lady Camden, of that day when 
you find yourself an object of antipathy in his 
eyes ! When a man of his stamp hates, he hates 
with a vehemence which carries virulent poison 
in its fang.” 

“ I know. I — for months — I have felt a growing 
dread of the future ; but that I have ‘ sealed my 
heart against him,’ as you say, is not true. Night 
and day have I battled against my heart’s cold- 
ness. Night and day have I prayed to God to 
change me toward my husband — to give me a 
sense of wifely interest, of duty, of respect, but no 
answer has been granted to my supplications. 


BEWARE! 


107 


Each day we are drifting further apart, and I am 
defenseless against whatever may come.” 

There was little sympathy in the parent face 
opposite as Lady Hortense concluded thus hope- 
lessly. Instead of bestowing a word of condolence 
in behalf of her child’s sorrow, Mrs. Ayers merely 
said, after a few moments of silence which were 
filled up with the other’s suppressed sobs : 

“ Your face, my dear, will be swollen and dis- 
figured. I am sure you have pride sufiicient to 
guard you against letting your contretemps 
become an open letter to the world. Hark ! ” 
she said suddenly, “ I hear the sound of sleigh- 
bells. Some of your guests are arriving even 
now.” 

Lady Hortense rose quickly and looked at 
her watch. 

“Yes,” she cried in dismay, “ it is half past 
four. Mamma, you must go down and receive 
them, and see that they are all shown proper 
apartments. But kiss me before you go, dearest, 
won’t you ? ” she asked suppliahtly. 

What parent heart could refuse such a pathetic 
appeal as that of Lady Hortense ? 

Mrs. Ayers bent and kissed twice the upturned, 
almost childish face ; but her cheek coming in 
such close contact with that other tear-moist one, 
was distasteful to her sense of dignity, and as she 
turned away and descended the highly-polished 
stair-way, along which floated the mingled odor 


108 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


of roses, lilies-of- the- valley, jessamine and vari- 
ous other kinds of redolent blossoms from below, 
she muttered to herself those words of Shakes- 
peare : 

How sharper than a serpent’s tooth it is to have a thankless 
child 1 



CHAPTER XIV 


AT FESTAL TIDE 

There is no armor against Fate. 

—Shirely. 

A blaze of myriad-tinted lights ; a blending of 
many subtle perfumes into one ecstatic and har- 
monious odor, which seemed to “swing the soul on 
a golden thread to heaven”; a swaying of deli- 
cious music from unknown regions — music which 
one moment throbbed out in wildest passion — 
laden strains of melody, now trembled aloft in 
suppliant, soul-reaching pathos, now tranquilly 
declined into the fragrance from which it seemed 
to have had its origin, like a dying whisper of 
love. 

A vast canvas gleamed like an. acre of polished 
Ceylon ivory on the floors of the two drawing- 
rooms, which had been thrown into one grand and 
spacious apartment to serve as a ball-room, and 
immediately beyond which the large banquet hall 
was partially revealed through swaying cur- 
tains of jessamine vine, starred with their own 
sweet, pale blossoms, before which there stood a 
statue of Flora, with one arm uplifted as if about 
to part the trailing draperies asunder. At the 
other extremity of the ball-room, through a length- 
ening vista of tropical plants and spraying 
( 109 ) 


no 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


fountains, could be seen the dimly-fluctuating, 
star-like lights of the conservatories ; while from 
the wide hall at the right, a view of the parlors 
could be had through the high- arched doorway, 
which suite \i2idL also been thrown into one large 
room for the reception of Lady Camden’s guests, 
and were, indeed, as Mrs. Ayers had declared, a 
“dream-like conception of Elysium,’’ with their 
various miniature mounds of flowers, flanked 
with shining greenery,- and bowls of roses resting 
at the feet of statuettes, or garnishing the silken 
draperies in loose and graceful clusters. 

Lady Camden and her mother stood within the 
arched doorway paying homage to the fast in- 
gathering throng of guests, who already filled the 
rooms to their comfortable capacity. 

Beautiful and stately as a young queen Lady 
Hortense appeared in her gleaming robes of ame- 
thist with diamonds encompassing her bare arms 
and throat, which was white and graceful as that 
of a swan. Her wealth of blue-black hair was 
arranged high, according to the fashion of the 
day, and pierced with a diamond poignard, — a 
costly bauble which Sir Philip had given her dur- 
ing the first weeks of their marriage, when they 
were abroad. 

There was a faint tinge of color upon her usu- 
ally pale cheek, and just enough heightened 
brightness in the soft, dark fathoms of her eye to 
render her loveliness perfect. The cynosure of 


AT FESTAL TIDE 


111 


all eyes, the secret envy of many a selfish heart, 
she moved hither and thither among the assem- 
bled multitude, lavishing a smile here, a compli- 
ment there, and giving the world the impression 
that she was the most completely happy woman 
in all Christendom, when, in truth, all the mag- 
nificence, the pageantry, the dazzling display and 
glitter combined to make for her a splendid mar- 
tyrdom in which she was stifled to suffocation. 

“ Of what use is it all ? ” she asked herself, for 
the hundredth time, as she let her glance stray 
feverishly over that, intricate mass of color and 
rest upon a large screen, which concealed the 
musicians from sight, and whose roses were al- 
ready drooping lifeless under the strong light 
which fell upon them from a chandelier. She 
did not dream that after a little time the same 
scene which she now secretly loathed in her heart 
would be transformed into one whose every detail 
she would view through eyes of ecstasy. 

She did not dream how near she was standing 
to the threshold of that realm which they say is 
woman’s true estate, and that one glance into the 
enchanted kingdom would seem to her like one 
scarcely of earthly joy, and that 

As, in a kind of holy trance 

She’d hang above those fragrant treasures, 

Bending to drink their balmy airs 
As if she mixed her soul with theirs. 

’Twould be, indeed, the perfume shed 
From flowers and scented flame, that fed 
Her charmed life. 


112 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


But one step taken into that strange kingdom 
would be to her perilous as though its walks were 
flanked with hissing reptiles. Yet she would 
enter there. Nearer and nearer each moment she 
was approaching to the arena of Doom, just as a 
bird flits through the sunshine into a rose bower, 
there to breathe the virulence from a deadly 
night-shade that has stealthily crept in among 
the blossoms there. 

“ Are not the Elwoods to be among us to-night. 
Lady Camden ?” questioned a tall, soldierly-look- 
ing fellow whom she had paused briefly to chat 
with, and whom I am now pleased to introduce 
as Gershon Carruthers, Lieutenant in the service 
of the United States Navy. He was a young man 
still on the sunny side of thirty years, whose 
frank blue eyes had a depth of tenderness in their 
light, and whose tawny hair was soft and crisp- 
curling as a girl’s. While not strictly handsome 
there was a look of distinction about his face 
which, with its delightful candor, made it lovable, 
and he was at once a great favorite among the 
fair sex and popular with his own. 

There was a little tremor of anxiety in his voice 
as he thus addressed his hostess, discerning 
which Lady Camden smiled to herself. 

“ Yes,” returned she, “ I am expecting them 
with others at any moment. They were to come 
by the 7:40 train.” 

Even as she spoke, there was a sound of sleigh 


AT FESTAL TIDE 


113 


bells without, and, after a short interval, the late 
arrivals made their way through the great hall, 
which was thronged with gentlemen, and passed 
upstairs to the dressing rooms. At the end of 
half an hour they began to pass in through the 
arched doorway and to mingle with the multitude. 

Colonel Elwood and his wife, Thayer Volney, 
and his lovely cousin, V alois, were among <the last 
to pass into the presence of their hostess. 

“ Lady Camden, Mrs. Ayers, I have the honor 
to present to you my nephew, Mr. Thayer Volney 
of England,” spoke the colonel, in his deep, clear 
tones. 

With a slight backward movement of her 
proudly-poised head, Lady Camden raised her 
eyes and met his glance. Had the Parian image 
of Glaucus, the Athenian, come to life, and 
stepped down from the mantel to confront her ? 
No, no, such a miracle had not been wrought, 
surely ! Then what was here ? Was she swoon- 
ing away from all the light and heavy fragrance, 
and was that face an apparition, shaped from out 
the lengthening depths of oblivion, to haunt her 
as it had so oft before haunted her in her dreams ? 
If not this, then had he^ her hero, the brave man 
whose courage had save! her life, crossed her 
path again, to stand before her, a form of breath- 
ing flesh and not of dream-ideality ? Oh joy I 
oh ecstasy I 

Oh Fate ! thou art so false, so deceptive, oft- 


114 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


times in thy garb ! Thou comest now, with thy 
dread ordination concealed behind a mask of such 
heaven-like loveliness ! And the lights are jew- 
els scintillating in a million beauteous rays ; and 
the dew on the flowers is pearls ; and the fra- 
grance which floats from them is a breath that 
comes from Elysian fields ! Who would wish to 
shrink from a decree as sweet and intoxicating as 
this ? 

“Mr. Volney, I am indebted to Colonel and 
Mrs. Elwood and to our dear Valois for the pleas- 
ure of knowing you/^ the words came at length, 
and they were low and composed ; but the little 
hand which Thayer took and pressed for a mo- 
ment in his own, was cold and trembled like a 
hurt bird. 

“ I, ” Lady Hortense added, as she turned with 
an enforced smile of apology toward the little 
circle, who, in some concern, had noted her brief 
agitation, “ I fear there is scarcely enough venti- 
lation in these crowded rooms. I felt for an 
instant a slight sense of dizziness. It is gone now. 
Yes, Valois, dear,” in answer to a hurriedly 
whispered question from the excited girl. “ He 
is here. I see him making his way toward you 
now. Yes, Sir Philip, the dance may as well be- 
gin at once ; everybody is here.” 

Sir Philip had been standing at a short space 
apart from his wife, and had not failed to note her 
every expression when she was introduced to the 


AT FESTAL TIDE 


115 


handsome young Englishman. Lady Hortense, 
however, was not aware of this. She did not 
glance upward into his face as she spoke ; had 
she done so she might have seen a threatening 
basilisk lurking there. She took his arm and 
they led the way to the ball room as the initia- 
tory measures of the march floated in to them. 

As they threaded their way through the laugh- 
ing, fluttering, expectant crowd, she caught a 
glimpse of Thayer Volney, as he bent over her 
lovely young friend Alice, in what seemed to her 
to be the devotion of a lover. 

What was there in the sight that made her lift 
her hand with a sudden spasmodic movement to 
her heart as though it had burst one of its fibres 
and were bleeding ? 


CHAPTER XV 


THE BREAKERS THREATEN 
And love ? . . . 

What was love then ? . . . . not calm, scarcely kind — 

But in one all Intensest emotions combined : 

• Life and death: pain and rapture. 

“ Lucile ’’—Ovsen Meredith. 

CCTT7HO is the pretty girl in white with whom 
VV your nephew has just danced, Mrs. El- 
wood ? ” questioned a young brunette, resplend- 
ent in maize crepe, a little later in the evening. 
The speaker was by birth a creole who, seven 
years previous to the opening of our story, had 
been brought to America by one Mr Rossmore, 
an Englishman of vast wealth, who had claimed 
the beautiful Dorian de Joules as his adopted 
ward and two years later had married her. 

Although their advent to the New England 
metropolis had been unattended by testimonial 
bearings of any kind, by subtle ingenuity Mrs. 
Rossmore had succeeded in gaining for herself 
and husband a passport into the elite circles of 
the “ Hub,’’ and ere she had moved therein half 
a season she had attained to an acknowledged 
belleship, at which throne men worshipped and 
women bowed in smiling patronage. 


( 116 ) 


THE BREAKERS THREATEN 


117 


The fashionable world followed in the footsteps 
of Dorian Rossmore. Her rare elegance of per- 
son, combined with a perfect propriety of conduct, 
and the fact that she was fast anchored upon the 
sea of matrimony made her a considered model 
which mothers established before their daughters, 
and they accepted without fear of finding in her 
an object of rivalry in affaires d' amour. 

But her husband ! Every one marvelled how so 
peerless a creature as Dorian could have linked 
her fate with a man so distressingly ugly I 

In stature Mr. Rossmore was low, almost to 
dwarfishness. He had little blue heads for eyes ; 
he had straw-colored hair, and beard and eye- 
brows ; he had a florid complexion shot with pit- 
marks, and two rows of little sharp teeth like 
those of a hyena, and large ears. Oh, Martin 
Rossmore was “ distressingly ugly ! ” 

But Dorian seemed to dote on him, and he fol- 
lowed her everywhere like a devoted spaniel, and 
was content to sit in a corner of the ball-room 
dozing, with his chin resting upon his be-dia- 
monded chest, and a letter A formed of his fore- 
fingers and thumbs, whilst she waltzed to her 
heart’s satisfaction. Content to sit at dinner next 
to her bare and gleaming shoulders, sipping his 
champagne or claret, and admiringly listening to 
her brilliant repartee as she conversed with Major 
McCaulif, or Percy Delnorte, or young Fred Bent- 
well, who was just fresh from Yale and who lived 


118 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


in a state of spiritual ecstasy if she smiled once 
upon him during an evening, or gave him a glance 
of approval from her gazelle-like Eastern eyes. 

But there came a time when no more the form 
of Martin Bossmore lingered near Dorian ; when 
no more she felt protection in the name of hus- 
band. 

Two years after their union the queer little man 
was stricken suddenly with paralysis and never 
rallied from the attack. 

Poor Dorian, — beautiful, young, talented, 
wealthy Dorian — was left stranded alone upon the 
isle of widowhood I 

For some months she buried herself from the 
world entirely as though it had never known her. 
Then, at intervals, just a glimpse was to be had 
of her face, which shone like a languishing flower 
behind the sweeping drapery of sable which 
always enshrouded it. Thus a year of her bereave- 
ment passed, after which period Dorian reluctant- 
ly persuaded herself that grief was undermining 
her health and she must abandon the burden of 
the black veil and her cloistral apartments, which 
were filled with memories of her dear departed, 
and once more seek the sunshine of the world. 

So over the threshold of the great arena she 
again made her way, timidly at first, so timidly, 
indeed, that fathers of daughters, and sons, the 
chosen of ambitious mothers, came forward in 
sympathy to offer her protection and courtesy. 


TUE BREAKERS THREATEN 


119 




She was more splendidly beautiful than ever in 
her new advent ; and gradually it came to pass 
that women, seeing her in all the charms of eli- 
gibility, began to look upon her with eyes of jeal- 
ousy and secret malevolence. Her manner, at 
first half shy and reserved, soon became gay and 
vivacious, as of old. Her repartee flashed with 
the wit and spirit inherited from her native coun- 
try. Her hair was black as Erebus. Her eyes 
were limpid and dark as those of a gazelle and 
bright as African diamonds. Her skin was trans- 
parent and soft as damask. Men had always 
known this, but women had overlooked the full 
value of her charms, because of yore they gave 
no hint of rivalry ; she was married. But this 
splendid creature who had stepped from widow’s 
weeds and dull jet into maize crepe and diamonds, 
who revealed eburnean shoulders and arms so 
daringly, who flashed the dark brilliance of her 
eyes into men’s faces so boldly, who sang so 
divinely, and threw open her mouth so wide when 
she laughed that the white soundness and even- 
ness of her teeth and contrasting pink of her gums 
might be fully appreciated — oh, they hated her ! 
and Dorian, divining their jealous enmity, was 
sorely pleased and did cry out in very exultation: 

“ Such joy ambition finds ! ” 

But to return to the question with which this 
chapter opened : 

“ Who is the pretty girl in white, with whom 


120 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


your nephew has just danced, Mrs. El wood ? ” 

It is Alice Meredith. How very happy she 
looks to-night, and how becomingly, yet simply 
dressed. You must remember her, Mrs. Ross- 
more ; she made her debut with Valois at Mrs. 
Carruthers’ ball, last August. You were there.’^ 
You mean — of course you mean Robert Mere- 
dith^s daughter ? ” 

Mrs. Elwood assented. 

“ But he has recently gone into bankruptcy ! ” 
whispered Dorian. “ How is it,” she asked, “ that 
the young lady still has an entree to our circles ?” 

Her tone was incredulous and flavored with a 
hauteur which stung the other to reply ; 

“It is a happy exception to the rule. Though 
adversity has dealt sternly with Mr. Meredith, 
his daughter has been spared that penalty to 
which the prejudiced world commonly consigns 
his luckless kind. A few who in the young lady’s 
time of prosperity patronized and professed to 
admire her, have proven true to their creed ; and 
she herself is not ashamed to lift her head above 
the mire in which, ah me I how many would love 
to see her grovelling.” 

A faint tinge of red dyed for a moment the 
transparent beauty of Dorian Rossmore’s face ; 
but above this the disdainful curve of her lip was 
still painfully apparent, as, with a feigned air of 
apology, she went on arguing in her own defense : 

“ But yet, you know, my dear Mrs. Elwood, 


TEE BREAKERS THREATEN 


121 


that money is the vital principle of social law I ” 

I admit the logic of your argument, but it is 
governed entirely by the individual.’^ 

Again Dorian’s colorless beauty was gently dis- 
turbed. She dexterously evaded the thrust, 
however, for, just at that moment, Thayer Volney 
passed them with the beautiful Lady Camden on 
his arm. 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Mrs. Rossmore in breath- 
less admiration, “don’t they make a picture? 
What a truly exceptional couple, indeed! he light? 
like a Grecian god, and she so dark and queenly I 
Mrs. Elwood, isn’t it really such a pity that Sir 
Philip Camden is not himself better looking ? 
They seem ill-matched, don’t you think so ? but 
then position — ah! is this our waltz, Mr. Bent" 
well ? ” 

Very glad to be relieved of the maize crepe, Mrs. 
Elwood, upon being left alone, began an eager 
survey of the ball-room to see if Valois was 
among the dancers ; look as she would, though, 
over that wide sea of kaleidoscopic color there 
was no shorn, curly-black head visible. 

“ My dear Mrs. Elwood,” said the voice of Mrs. 
Ayers beside her suddenly. “ I have been search- 
ing for you everywhere. I want to show you the 
conservatories. My daughter has just received a 
collection of very rare plants from India, and, 
knowing you to be such a botanist, I have been 
anxious for you to see them. Come ! ” 


122 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Mrs. Elwood rose and the two sauntered toward 
the dim-ht cloisters. 

They were passing close to a fragrant spraying 
fountain when, chancing to glance beyond the 
crystalline columns, to where a noble camelia 
spread forth its starred branches, Mrs. Elwood 
espied, by the rays which fell from a pale light 
above, the glitter of a frost-white dress, and in 
very close proximity to this,, the outline of a 
man^s form. As she continued to gaze toward the 
spot, half ^oubting, half convinced, a subdued, 
love-like murmur of voices came to her ; when, 
with something very like a throb of pain, she 
whispered to herself : 

“ It is my baby Valois and Lieutenant Car- 
ruthers ! ” 

Meanwhile measure upon measure of the waltz 
rose and fell, and the dancers glided on light- 
winged feet to its inspiring strains — strains which 
at length were destined to melt away, as all that 
is ecstacy must melt after an ephemeral season 
— as Lady Hortense’s rapture melted when she 
found herself abruptly, cruelly transported back 
to earth from that beautiful dream-land through 
which she had madly suffered herself to stray, 
forgetful of all living things save /lim, her partner, 
Thayer Volney. 

A few moments later, when the ‘‘current 
offered ” for her to shrink away, unnoticed, from 
the crowd, and she stood alone within the deep 


THE BREAKERS THREATEN 


123 


recess of a window which had been ingeniously 
converted into a kind of lover’s cloister by the 
aid of miniature palms and various flowering 
exotics, and in whose high blue ceiling one single 
star-light light fluctuated, giving a tone of life to 
the bower, she looked out upon the night’s sanc- 
tified beauty with a happiness such as she had 
never dreamed of awake within her soul, filling 
its citadel with those strange sounds of which 
poets write and music breathes. 

“ Oh I” cried she passionately, “ if I could only 
die now, at this very moment, while this heavenly 
trance endures ! Oh, guiltily, I know, the medi- 
um through which this soul-consuming ecstasy 
has been wrought I But — oh God ! the sense 
which follows now and bids me die, not of living 
rapture, as I should love to die, but the slow- 
grinding death of despair !” 

She trembled from head to foot, and an icy 
dampness broke out upon her brow. She caught 
dizzily at the window casement to keep herself 
from falling, and gradually she succeeded in mas- 
tering the dread sensation. Then came a reac- 
tion, when hot, bitter tears fell from her eyes un- 
checked. There was no one to witness her emo- 
tion. Why should she not give full vent to them 
if tears could in any degree assuage that travail 
of woe ? When the paroxysm had spent itself 
she buried her face in her hands, and prayed the 
most fervent prayer of her lifetime : 


124 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“ Dear God ! help, oh help me to be stronger : 
Oh look into my soul to-night and see what is 
there that is vile I I have offended Thee, O 
God ! but why didst Thou send him into my ru- 
ined life ! Help me to be strong ! Help me to 
be loyal to myself and to Thee !’’ 

As she lifted her head there was a slight rustle 
of the portieres, and she heard a voice saying : 

“ Lady Camden, I have brought you an ice. 
May I come in ? 

She turned quickly, and herself parted the 
silken draperies, bidding him enter. 

“How did you divine my whereabouts, Mr. 
Volney?” she asked, smiling calmly into the 
fair, perfect face before her. 

“ Miss Meredith suggested your hiding place, 
after I had spent some moments in a futile search 
for you. Really, this ice is half melted. Lady 
Camden ; let me bring you another.’’ 

“ No ; indeed no she gently but firmly pro- 
tested, “ I quite prefer this.” 

“ What a fairy-like bower is this I In truth, 
how beautiful are all your rooms, Lady Camden. 
I am told you were the chief artist in arranging 
the decorations,” he said, as, in compliance with 
her invitation, he seated himself on the low otto- 
man opposite her. 

She acknowledged his compliment with a 
pleased smile. Then said : 


THE BREAKERS THREATEN 


125 


‘‘ This is your first American ball, I believe, 
Mr. Volney.’’ 

“Yes, and aside from that, you have honored 
me by commemorating the date of my departure 
from England. I left my native shores just two 
months ago to-day.” 

“ If in that I have been the means of according 
to you a small degree of pleasure, I am gratified. 
I would in some little measure compensate you 
for that morning’s perilous venture in my behalf.” 

He was silent for a moment. 

“ I was not certain that you had recognized 
me,” he said at length, and with obvious confu- 
sion. 

Recognized you !” she reiterated quickly. 
“ Think you then I could so easily forget a face 
associated as yours was, with a moment dreadful 
as was 

He shuddered involuntarily. 

“It was a dreadful, a horrible moment, with 
so young and so beautiful a life as yours. Lady 
Camden, at the mercy of those mad beasts. Let 
us not dwell upon it.” 

“We will not recur to it,” she said quickly. 
“I would not have your pleasure to-night marred 
in the slightest way ; and you must not let me 
detain you here a moment longer to the sacrifice 
of that waltz.” 

He started guiltily. How could he have for- 
gotten his engagement to dance with Alice Mere- 


126 


THE BRIDE OF INFELJCE 


dith ? What an unpardonable offense to have 
kept her waiting through one measure ! 

Lady Hortense, noting his discomfiture, rose, 
and they left the alcove together. They had 
proceeded but a few steps when Sir Philip inter- 
cepted them. 

He said something in an undertone to his wife, 
who, with a conventional bow to the young Eng- 
lishman, accepted his arm, and they joined the 
circle of waltzers. 

“ Why,” panted Sir Philip, as they turned to 
walk, after one round [Sir Philip was a man who 
merely danced because it was fashionable to 
dance, and not because he enjoyed it,] why did 
you not sit out the entire dance with Volney, in 
— a — what you are pleased to term your lovers’ 
bower ? How very adroitly you managed your 
tete-a-tete ! ” 

“There was no ‘management’ of the tete a-iete, 
as you vulgarly put it. I simply sought in the 
alcove a moment of solitude which I felt in need 
of. Mr. Volney brought me an ice there, and we 
chatted briefly, as was only natural we should do.” 

“ Admit, however, in justice to him, that he is 
agreeable company ? ” 

“ He certainly is agreeable company.” 

“ And also that he is handsome — forsooth 
haudsome as your Athenian idol, (xlaucus, eh ? ” 
with a fiendish chuckle. 

She paled to the very lips ; but flashing him a 


THE B If BAKERS THREATEN 


127 


look of haughty defiance from her splendid eyes, 
she said, with a composure which maddened him : 

I concede ; he is, as I heard you say the 
other night, like a Greek god ! ’’ 

His low laugh, demon-like in its forced mirth- 
lessness, made a shiver of revulsion thrill through 
Lady Camden’s veins. She made a movement as 
if to withdraw her hand from his arm ; but, 
divining her intention, he pressed the member 
tightly to his side and only laughed the more. 

“Ah,” he mentally congratulated himself, “I 
am making her hate me ! I have sworn that I 
would. I will have no ‘ cool medium ’ by heaven I 
— A — Mrs, Rossmore, remember the next quad- 
rille is mine,” he said with a sudden charming 
courteousness to that lady who at that moment 
passed them leaning upon the arm of Mr. Bent- 
well, whom she had kept alternately in heaven 
and torment ever since she had left off her 
widow^s weeds. 

“ To my taste, tliat is the most fascinating 
woman in the ball-room,” observed Sir Philip to 
his wife, as Dorian, with a smile and nod of 
acquiesaence, passed on. 

“That adventuress 1” exclaimed Lady Cam- 
den with a contemptuousness which she could 
not suppress. 

“ She is chic ; she is bubbling over with orig- 
inal wit and spirit ; she is the sort that men like 
and admire,” said Sir Philip. 


128 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“ Some men — yes,’’ conceded his wife with an 
eloquent shrug of her bare, white shoulders. 

“ Oh, there are exceptions, of course ; a — Mr. 
Volney, for example I he would prefer some one 
more en rapport with his own statue-like beauty. 
Alice Meredith’s spirituelle face has palpable 
attraction for him.” 

Lady Hortense felt a convulsion about the 
fibres of her heart, but hushing her pain with an 
inward voice, she managed to answer him calmly: 

“Alice Meredith is designed to attract the 
superior caste of men ; and to admire her, one 
must be ambitious.” 

“ Why do you so set her above the ordinary 
element ? ” asked Sir Philip, derisively. 

“ Why do I ? Because of ’ er legitimate claim 
to all that is pure and beautiful in womanhood.” 

“ Pah ! The embodiment of virtue and beauty 
is well enough to wrap in a tunic and set upon a 
pedestal for artists to look at ; but publicity con- 
taminates the qualities. As a ^goddess of purity’ 
Miss Meredith’s legitimate position is not in the 
ball-room, allow me to suggest.” 

There was a significant sneer in his last words 
which prompted Lady Hortense to again turn 
her flashing eyes upon him. Her lips were parted 
to frame some response, but they were passing the 
hall door, and some one called Sir Philip’s 
name. 


THE BREAKERS THREATEN 


129 


He turned to see his valet standing in the 
passage with a world of meaning in his eyes. 

“ I will see you directly, Tate/^ he said in an 
undertone to the man, and leading his wife to a 
seat, he hurriedly quitted the ball-room. 


CHAPTER XVI 


DEAD SEA- FRUIT 

A man may fish with the worm that hath eat of a king, 

And eat of the fish that hath fed of that worm. 

—Shakespeare. 

what news, Tate,” questioned the 
VV master of Maplehurst, when at a signal, 
his valet had followed him to a chamber remote 
from the festive rooms. 

I have been watching at the outer gates as 
you bade me. Sir Philip, and have brought you 
some intelligence,” replied the man significantly. 

“Speak quickly then,” demanded Sir Philip, 
“ I cannot remain long away from my guests.” 

“Just as the moon rose, about half an hour 
ago, I saw a horseman gallop into a thicket of 
scrub pine about fifty yards from the riwer bank, 
and dismount. 

“After securing his horse well within the shadows 
of the trees, he commenced to creep slowly and 
cautiously toward the gates. I concealed myself 
in the shrubberies near by and allowed him to 
pass through them, then followed at a safe dis- 
tance as he made his way toward the castle walls. 
I saw him approach one of the windows of the 
back drawing-room, whose curtains were half 
( 130 ) 


DEAD SEA- FRUIT 


131 


drawn, and gaze within ; as he did so I heard 
him mutter aloud these words : 

“ ‘Sir Philip Camden, right royally do you 
entertain ! right noble and grand-looking is the 
gentry ga^thered within your castle halls to-nighti 
Such pomp, I imagine, is seldom seen in the gay 
world this side the Atlantic. But beware, oh Sir 
Philip Camden — ’ I noticed that he laid a pecu- 
liar emphasis on your name each time he pro- 
nounced it — ‘ Your season of triumph is in its 
declining days. By heaven ! I will tear the mask 
from your face and reveal all those foul colors 
lying beneath it to the world, which you have so 
long swindled ! Either will I declare you, or you 
shall henceforth pave my way as you have paved 
your own through the gilded labyrinths of so- 
ciety.’ ” 

“ Well, is that all ? ” asked Sir Philip com- 
placently, as the man paused. “By the powers! 
it is an interesting legend! ” he exclaimed, coolly 
lighting a cigar at the low candelabra. “ Ha ! 
ha ! ‘ the gilded labyrinths of society ’ is a pretty 
phrase ! (puff). Go on.” 

“As he continued to look into the apartment, 
still muttering his maledictions,” resumed Tate, 
“ I stepped silently up behind him. ‘ Who are 
you,’ said I, ‘that you steal about like a cur to 
spy upon and menace my master ? ’ He turned 
upon me a face of sneering defiance : ‘ If you are 
a servant of Sir Philip Camden,’ said he, ‘ I warn 


1'32 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


you, my friend, be not so bold ; for Philip, your 
master, is bought and sold.’ ” 

Sir Philip laughed again. 

“ A ranter of Shakespeare,” he observed. ^Tur- 
sue, my good Tate, pursue,” he then said, contin- 
uing to puff at his cigar. 

“ I called him a madman, whereupon he again 
sneered at me. 

“ ‘ If I am mad, then,’ said he, ‘ out of human- 
ity befriend me. Go to Sir Philip with a mad- 
man’s appeal. Hand him this, and return to me 
with his answer.’ ” 

With this, Tate took from his inner vest pocket 
a closely folded piece of paper. He handed this 
to the master of Maplehurst, and stood by, watch- 
ing his face as he opened and read it ; but he saw 
no sign of disturbance there. 

Sir Philip’s features were without a quiver as 
he traced the lines which ran ; 

*‘M. Alphonse Favraud, late of Paris, presents his 
compliments to Sir Philip Camden, and prays his honor 
for an early interview, to-night,” 

He even, after assuring himself that there was 
nothing compromising to himself in the three 
lines, read them aloud, omitting the name, sim 
ply, which headed them ; then igniting the paper 
at the candelabra, he stamped the burning par- 
ticle under his faultlessly slippered foot, with the 
deliberation that he would have used in stamping 
the life out of a ground spider or a caterpillar. 


DEAD SEA-FRUIT 


133 


“ Go to this — a — fool,’^ said he, ‘‘ and, inasmuch 
as he simulates Shakespeare, say that I am ‘ not 
in the vein* for granting him an interview to- 
night, nor yet for several nights. Hasten now, 
and do you make the premises well rid of him at 
once.'’* 

“ But, Sir Philip, his threats ? He may make 
a scene. His face is full of evil purpose. I like 
it not.’* 

‘‘ Threats be ! A toothless cur can threat- 

en with its bark. Don’t be a sop. Be gone and 
do my bidding — yet, stay ! a — you might add 
that if he chooses to come to me on some night 
during next week, say Thursday, at this hour, I 
will be at his service.” 

“ Ah ! that would imply some little fear of his 
bite, despite your indifference,” observed the man 
to himself as the door closed him from his mas- 
ter’s presence. 

No sooner was Sir Philip left alone than he 
tossed aside his cigar and placed his hand to his 
throat, as if he might have felt there an uncom- 
fortable tightness. Then all his latent furies 
burst forth to defile the silence which brooded 
there. 

“ Curse him ! Curse him I” hissed this, now, 
demon man, as he paced the floor, with breast 
convulsed, and eyes emitting venom’s own lurid 
flame. I would I could sear his soul with the 
brimstone of my curses I He threatens. Oh des- 


134 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


picable consequence that he should live to spy 
upon and threaten me ! Oh loathsome worm I 
would that I had seen him in his grave-shroud 
ere turning my face from Europe ; then my fu- 
ture would have been secure, while now it stands 
on thin ice. Curse him ! he lives to bring back 
the dead and rotten sea fruit from those forgotten 
shores, to cast upon my proud estate for its con- 
tamination ! He shall not ! I will baffle him in 
his accursed purpose, by heaven, I swear it! 
I 

Here his frenzied soliloquy ceased suddenly as 
there came the sound of footsteps in the corridor 
without. The next instant his body-serN’ant re- 
entered the room. 

“ The man has gone, Sir Philip. He sent you 
this.’^ 

His master read the one scrawled pencil line, 
which ran thus : 

“ Look for me promptly at 11 on Thursday night.” 

Then he burned the scrap of yellow paper as he 
had done the first, and with the same stoical 
countenance ; after which he dismissed his serv- 
ant, saying briefly: 

“ When I need you again, Tate, I shall not hes- 
itate to call upon you.’^ 

Ten minutes later he returned to the ball room, 
where he at once sought out Mrs. Ro'ssmore, and 
bent contritely over her with suave apologies for 


DEAD SEA-FRVIT 


135 


his absence, during which their quadrille had 
been danced. 

These she accepted with pouting hesitation, 
yet would retaliate the offense by studiously 
avoiding him for the rest of the evening. 

When all the lights of Maplehurst were out, 
and every sound of revelry was hushed within 
those halls, Sir Philip stole from his apartments 
out into the still grey of the early dawn, where 
for hours he walked with his grim tutor, Satan, 
along the snow-bound terrace walls above the 
Merrimac. 


CHAPTER XVII 


love’s behest 


In peace love tunes the shepherd’s reed; 

In war he mounts the warrior s steed ; 

In halls, in gay attire is seen ; 

In hamlet’s dances on the green ; 

Love rules the- court, the camp, the grove, 

And man below, and saints above, 

For love is heaven, and heaven is love. 

Scott. 

M orning dawned, crisp, cold and clear; but 
ere the house party at Maplehurst began to 
assemble below stairs the sun had well nigh 
reached his zenith, and struggled vainly to shine 
through a rift of threatening clouds. 

Sir Philip and Mrs. Rossmore were the last to 
enter the breakfast room, when the question of a 
sleigh ride was on the tapis. The young widow 
wore a becoming morning toilet of changeable 
green, over which there fell, in charming contrast, 
great billows of creamy lace, like sea-foam, and 
her costume was still enhanced by a large cluster 
of nodding jleur de Us, which she wore low upon 
her corsage. 

“ My dear Lady Camden,” said she, as she 
noticed the quick glance of her hostess wander 
( 136 ) 


LOVE'S BEHEST 


137 


first to her flowers and then questioningly to Sir 
Philip’s face. 

“We have been touring the conservatories, and 
see ! I come back laden with sweet spoils. I, 
really,” with a half-arch, half-guilty look, 
“ thought it barbarous of your husband, but he 
would pick these for me.” As she ended she 
touched caressingly the beautiful /eitr de liSj and 
made a little defiant grircace at Sir Philip, who, 
smiling back at her, said, with his accustomed 
indolent drawl; 

“ I have assured Mrs. Rossmore of Lady Cam- 
den’s approval. She delights especially in her 
conservatories, and asks no higher compliment 
than that which her guests pay her by enjoying 
them. Is it not so, my dear ?” he asked insidi- 
ously, directing his glance towards his wife. 

“ Certainly,” replied Lady Hortense, but she 
did not lift her flushed face from the coffee urn 
as she spoke, and the one low-toned word flavored 
of her inward indignation at an offence which 
she knew was a malevolent and coolly directed 
one on the part of Sir Philip, who was well aware 
of her partiality for the young iris tree, and knew 
that she had always guarded vigilantly against 
its disturbance. 

“ Do you take cream, Mrs. Rossmore ?” she 
asked, as her hand fluttered over the dainty ser- 
vice in arranging cups and saucers for the late 
comers. 


138 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“Please.” 

“ And sugar ? ” 

“ One. — Oh, Mr. Bentwell, indeed, no ! ” this in 
reply to her young admirer’s eager question, 

“ Will you make one of our sleighing party this 
afternoon, Mrs. Rossmore ? ” 

“Although sleighing is one of my hobbies,” 
added Dorian, “I don’t quite relish the idea of 
being caught in a snow storm.” 

Fred Bentwell sighed. 

“Then I assuredly will not go,” she read in his 
adoring eyes, and with a coquettish smile she 
turned to her host. 

“ Do not you think it will storm, Sir Philip ? ” 
asked she, and, without waiting for his response, 
she continued : “ If it should, and there could 

be no sleighing, why not arrange for those tab' 
leaux'vivants that we were discussing last night? ” 

“ Yes I by all means let us have some char- 
ades,” exclaimed Fred Bentwell ; then flushed to 
the roots of his fair hair at the rebuking eyes 
which Dorian flashed upon him. 

“ Look ! it is snowing even now,” cried Valois 
Elwood at this juncture. 

They all glanced toward the windows and sure 
enough saw a few idly- falling flakes interspersing 
the somber gloom of the noontide. 

Sir Philip’s eyes looked away from them back 
into Dorian Rossmore’s face : 

“ So we may at once veto the sleighing for to- 


LOVES BEHEST 


139 


day, and organize the tableaux,’’ he said with a 
smile of indulgence upon his sinister face which 
brought a wave of color to Dorian’s. 

“ Do you not think it would be infinitely nicer, 
Lady Camden ? ” she asked. 

Lady Horten se bowed with the listless conces- 
sion which she gave to all of her husband’s wishes. 
“ But,” said she, “ of course there are always some 
who do not care for theatricals. You do not, do 
you, Leonie ? ” she asked, turning to a doll-faced, 
voluptuous girl of seventeen who sat next to Mrs. 
Ayers. 

“ No,” declared Miss Leonie Dextjell, with a 
simpering smile, “ to me they are totally without 
charm. Gladys loves to act — that is, recite — but 
give me out-door fun ! Oh, Sir Philip 1 ” she 
supplemented, “ I brought my skates ; isnH there 
a pond or something hereabouts to skate on ? ” 

“Yes,” returned Sir Philip, “ thd water is well 
frozen down in the lake, and I am told the skat- 
ing there is excellent.” 

“ Oh, how perfectly lovely I ” gushed Leonie, 
her limpid eyes melting in tears of real ecstasy. 
“Will you come skating with me, Valois ? You 
skate as swiftly as a lark flies, and so gracefully I 
Do come ! I am, sure 2 /oit don’t want to act; do 
you ? ” she asked. 

Valois hesitated and directed a little shy, ques- 
tioning look toward Lieutenant Carruthers. It 
seemed to say, “ Had you rather skate or act ? ” 


140 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


and his eyes answered back something that made 
her blush scarlet. 

Mrs. Rossmore herself, however, settled the 
debate. 

“ Leonie,” said she, “ Captain Pometer will go 
with you to the lake. I am assured that he, like 
yourself, is devoted to his skates ; but Valois and 
Lieutenant Carruthers are to assist in supporting 
our entertainment,” she added peremptorily. 

Immediately after breakfast a meeting was 
called and the coming charades duly discussed 
and arranged. 

Miss Meredith and Fred Bentwell were elected 
for a sketch from Lalla Rookh.” Valois Elwood 
and Gershon Carruthers would present an inter- 
esting scene from the “ Courtship of Miles Stan- 
dish.” Thayer Volney was seized upon for a 
Pygmalion, and Lady Camden singled out by a 
unanimous vote to do the statuary part, as the 
Athenian artist’s model, Galatea. 

Vain were her protestations against acting this 
roU, Sir Philip saw her grow pale as death when 
it was assigned her ; and as her eyes inadvert- 
ently met his, she shuddered at the evil triumph 
she saw shining in them. 

With a last appeal she turned to Mrs. Ross- 
more : 

“ I thank you for the compliment, but would 
prefer that Miss Dextrell take the part,” said she, 
“I will do all in my power toward making the 


LOVFS BEHEST 


141 


entertainment a success, but I do not wish to at- 
tempt a part for which I am utterly unfitted.” 

“ Unfitted I ” cried Dorian Rossmore, deprecat- 
ingly. “ Why, my dear Lady Camden, one could 
not be more fitted to the role than you ! You are 
classical. You are reposS. You are all that would 
go toward making a perfect statue. Now, Gladys 
here — ” 

“ Oh please Mrs. Rossmore, spare me ! ” 
laughingly interrupted Miss Dextrell, who, like 
her sister Leonie, was “ doll-faced and voluptu- 
ous,” yet not so simpering nor dull. “ I am, I 
assure you, fully appreciative of my own short- 
comings ; the comparison would be 'odious’; 
there is nothing classical nor tranquil about my 
composition; I should giggle outright when the 
calcium lights were turned on. I shall, however, 
be pleased to recite something.” 

So for a recitation she was accordingly billed 
on the part of Mrs, Rossmore, who graciously 
volunteered herself, as there was “order in 
variety,” to contribute a Spanish solo in the cos- 
tume of her mother’s country. 

When the programme was finished, it was voted 
that the afternoon be devoted to the preparation 
of proper costumes, and that a stage be impro- 
vised in the back drawing-room for rehearsal of 
the various parts on the following evening. Thus 
the interval was filled up with the rush and 
hurry of excitement that is generally attendant 


142 


THE BRIDE OF. INFELICE 


upon such events, and soon after dinner on Wed- 
nesday evening commenced the rehearsal with 
doors strictly closed to all excepting those who 
composed the programme. 

Alice Meredith, with her bright rippling hair 
and lovely face, and with her voice — 

Sweet as the breath of angel sighs 

When angel sighs are most divine, 

promised a revelation in the character of Nour- 
mahal, the Arabian maid ; but, after the rehearsal 
of her part was over, she stole away to the 
darkest and remotest corner of the front drawing- 
room, filled with secret dislike of it. She had 
instinctively felt the eyes of Thayer Volney upon 
h^r all the while she had been singing ; and as 
Selim had clasped her, with all the assumed 
passion of a great love, to his breast, and her 
head had fallen, with seeming abandonment upon 
his arm, she revolted even as she had whispered 
the words : 

Remember, love, the feast of roses. 

Afterward she had glanced up to meet that pair 
of serious eyes, and in them she had read a 
rebuke which smote her to the inmost fibre of 
her being, like a sharp steel point. The wound 
still rankled within her as she sank down in the 
dim-lit corner ; and, as if in very self-defense, 
she cried in a low voice which only her own 
heart heard : “ Oh if he could have read my 
souks dear thought when I said those words : 


LOVE'S BEHEST 


143 


‘ Remember, love, the feast of roses/ I was 
thinking of the night before last, when I sat with 
him in the dim conservatories amid the breath- 
ing fragrance, with his voice making sweeter 
music to my ear than the dreamy strains of the 
waltz or the fall of fountain waters. Oh, it was 
of that elysian moment I was thinking, and his 
eyes wounded me so by their look of reproach ! ” 

How long she remained sitting there, lost in 
a reverie which was full of wavering shadow- 
pictures, in which the image of Thayer Volney 
was all that to her was distinct, she did not 
realize. 

She started at length at some uncertain sound; 
and looking up, beheld the object of her medita- 
tions. 

He came silently forward out of the gloom and 
sat down beside her. 

“ Why are you sitting here all alone?’’ he asked 
in a voice which his latent passion rendered 
slightly unsteady. 

She was silent. The dim-lit space before her 
for a moment seemed to be peopled with unreal 
shapes. She could not speak for the strange 
emotion which was stirring her being to its very 
depths and almost stifling her. 

Thayer sat gazing at her with his dark, serious 
eyes so full of his soul’s love that they would 
have startled her, had she trusted herself to look 
up. Her silence made him deliriously happy ; 


144 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


and a flood of passionate words were upon his 
lips ready to burst forth. Should he utter them ? 
Would she think him oflScious for approaching 
her thus early in their acquaintance, and hate 
him for his presumptuous advances ? No ; his 
intuition had divined that this was no cold, 
incredulous and prejudiced nature that he was 
about to appeal to, but one whose every fibre was 
aglow with generous, womanly sentiment. He 
would find in that heart some spontaneous and 
harmonic echo to the love which it had engend- 
ered, which was its own true offspring. 

No sooner had the last thought shaped itself 
than he was upon his knees at her feet, and she 
heard his low voice saying, fervidly : 

“ Alice, I have experienced to-night the first 
jealous pang of my life I Oh, my love, I could 
not bear to see his arms about you ! The sight 
maddened me ! I might not have told you so 
soon in words how completely you have enshrined 
yourself in my heart, but this new germ which, 
guiltily, I feel invading the purity of my love has 
prompted me to cry out : I love you I I love you ! 
Not with that fragile self-centered passion which 
men ofttimes confess ; but with one which com- 
bines the interest and holiest emotion of the soul 
and the mind I I loved you ere I knew your 
name ; I will love you to the end of my life ! No 
other image can ever efface yours from my heart; 
it shall be an incentive to all the purest actions 


LOVE’S BEHEST 


145 


and noblest purposes that the future may ever 
know of me ! ” 

His voice ceased, and in the interval of silence 
which followed, she heard his breath come quickly 
and felt him shivering as with a chill. 

He had possessed himself of one of her hands, 
which gently answered to the pressure of his own; 
but her lips refused to frame a single word in 
answer to his appeal, though her eyes — he could 
not see them — revealed the answer which her 
glad soul could not disguise. 

At length he looked up. 

‘‘ Be kind,’^ he whispered. “ Say but one word ! 
I will understand, Alice. 

One word ! in what one word could she make 
him understand all that she saw in her heart ? 
In what one word could she combine the acknowl- 
edgment of her joy and the confession of her 
despair ? 

Oh that so felicitous a moment should be 
darkened by the grief of knowing that it could 
not last ! Already she could hear its funeral 
note sounding through the silence. 

A voice came faintly to them ; it was calling 
Mr. Volney for rehearsal. Then a shadow dark- 
ened the threshold of the folding doors, and 
Dorian Rossmore came toward the very corner 
where they sat. Mr. Volney I — is this Mr. Voi- 
der ? ” she asked half dubiously. 

“Yes,” he answered. “ Are you ready for me, 


146 


THE BRIDE OF JNFELICE 


Mrs. Rossmore ? I will be there immediately ! ” 

He waited until the woman withdrew, then in 
a hurried whisper, he added to Alice ; 

“ I can better bear your silence than a hopeless 
word, or a rebuke that would pain me yet more 
deeply. But if you would merely say that you 
believe my avowal as sincere, and that I need not 
wholly despair.’’ 

She lifted her eyes to his with a sad, wistful 
light in them, and said brokenly : “ I believe in 
your words — implicitly. I — I believe in them 
religiously, and with all my heart and soul I but 
oh Mr. Volney, do not — do not hope for more 
than this ! ” 

His only answer was to lift her hand to his 
lips and kiss it reverently, passionately.* Then 
he went away. 

When he was quite gone, she pressed her lips 
to the spot where his own had rested, murmuring 
as she did so : 

Oh, my love, my love ! what grim decree of 
destiny is this ? To know that you are mine and 
I am thine by what seems to be the holy cove- 
nant of God, and still to know that at the hand 
of Providence ‘ like two cleft rocks, our lives are 
sundered wide.’ Oh, is it just, dear Heaven, 
that such things should be ? ” 

She went up to her room with hot tears blind- 
ing her way ; and there she knelt down in the 
alcove beside her bed, and prayed fervently for 


LOVES BEHEST 


147 


wisdom to see the right and for strength to offer 
up the sacrifice of Thayer’s love if, as it seemed 
to her now, so bitter an obligation lay between 
herself and duty. 

Soon after she rose there came a little tap upon 
her door. 

“ It is only me — Valois. May I come in just 
for a moment ? ” said the voice of her friend. 

“Certainly, come.” 

She was glad there was no light to reveal her 
tear-stained face, and she strove to make her 
voice sound calm. 

“ Where are you ? Why are you in the dark ? 
May I kneel by you ? ” 

“ Of course, darling,” Alice answered. 

“ Allie,” throwing her arms about the slender 
waist and hiding her face upon the heaving 
bosom of her friend, “ I am very, ve-ry happy, 
dear ! Guess what has happened.” 

“ Lieutenant Carruthers has proposed to you ?” 
suggested Alice, as she let her hand stray 
tenderly over the shorn rings of jet. 

“No; guess again. 

“ He has declared his love ? ” 

The shorn head nestled closer, and Valois 
heaved a delicious sigh. 

“ Yes,” lisped the young girl, “ but that is not 
all ; he — he kissed me twice.” 

And so, as far 

As the universe spreads its flaming wall, 

Take all the pleasures of all the spheres 
And multiply each through endless years, 
uue minute of heaven is worth them alL 


CHAPTER XVIIl' 

THE CLAP-TRAP 


The fountain in the odorous garden cast up its silverspray in the 
Rir, and kept a delicious coolness in the midst of the sultry noon. 
The handmaids almost invariably attended on lone, 'who with 
her freedom of life preserved the most delicate modesty, sat at a 
little distance ; by the feet of Glaucus lay the lyre on which he had 
been playing to lone one of his Lesbian airs. 

The scene— the group before Arbaces was stamped by that 
peculiar and refined ideality of poesy which we yet, not errone- 
ously, imagine to be the distinction of the ancients. 

rhe marble columns, the vases of flowe rs, the statue, white and 
tranquil, closing every vista ; and above all the two loving forms 
from which a sculptor might have caught either inspiration or 
despair ! 

Arbaces pausing for a moment, gazed on the pair. 

The Last Days op Pompeii. 

— Sir Edward Bulwer Lytton. 

curtain rose upon the garden of “ Shali- 
mar.” Overhead stretched a canopy of starry 
blue, while an invisible light from behind the stage 
fell subtly over tropical plants, flowers and statues, 
swathing the scene in a tranquil radiance like 
that of a mid-surnmer night’s moon. 

At a short distance from a miniature fountain, 
which had been ingeniously contrived to play 
forth a shining spray into the air, and whose 
basin was flanked with blossoming exotic plants, 
the Imperial Selim reclined ; while about him 
moved his festive guests, fair maids and radiant 

( 148 ) 


THE CLAP-TRAP 


149 


lovers ; or loitered, some of them, at the spread 
board of fruit and wine. 

In the air floated soft dream-like strains of 
music — song whose magic measures were accom- 
panied by the guitar ; but suddenly above these 
another voice was — 

So divinely breathed around 

That all stood hushed and wondering. 

And turned and looked into the air, 

As if they thought to see the wing 
Of Israfel, the Angel there. 

Suddenly a thrill of delight ran through the 
audience, as through the foliage glided the Sultana 
Nourmahal with her beautiful features only half 
veiled, and her glorious hair falling like a cloak 
of spun gold, about her Oriental costume. 

As Selim and his guests gazed upon her, en- 
tranced, she rested her lute and to a subdued ac- 
companiment her nightingale-like voice rose, first 
low and soft, then gradually trilling to its highest 
pitch of sweetness : 

There’s a blips bcybnd all that the minstrel hath told, 

When two that are linked in a heav’nly tie, 

With heart n^er changing, and brow never cold. 

Love on through all ills, and love on till they die 1 
One hour of a passion so sacred is worth 
Whole ages of heartless and wandering bliss : 

And oh 1 if there be an Elysium on earth 
It is this, it is this 1 

Never before in her life had Alice Meredith sung 
BO well, and with such a depth of genuine feeling. 
When she ceased her listeners were wild in their 
applause of delight, while one among them felt as 


150 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


the true Selim had, “ too inly touched for utter- 
ance.” Once while she sang, Alice had let her eyes 
wander to Thayer Volney, and there had been an 
expression in them which told him that her words 
were directed to himself alone. 

Oh why could he not have rushed forward and 
fallen upon his knees before her then and there, 
and told her that he had understood ? It was 
only by a supreme effort that he controled the 
mad impulse and calmed his joy to listen as again 
those enchanting tones rose above the hush : 

Fly to the desert, fly with me, 

Our Arab tents are rude for thee ; 

But, Oh ! the choice what heart can doubt,, 

Of tents with love, or thrones without? 

Our rocks are rough, but smiling there 
Th’ acacia waves her yellow hair, 

Lonely and sweet, nor loved the less 
For flowering in the wilderness. 

Our sands are bare, but down their slope 
The silv’ry footed Antelope 
As gracefully and gaily springs 
As o’er the marble courts of kings. 

Then come — thy Arab maid will bo 
The loved and lone acacia tree, 

The Antelope whose feet shall bless 
With their light sound thy loneliaess. 

These stanzas the singer had directed to the 
rapturously listening Emperor ; but there was a 
slight change of position and another telegraphed 
glance toward Thayer as she pursued : 

Oh ! there are looks and tones that dart 
An instant sunshine through the heart, 

As if the soul that minute caught 
Some treasure it through life had sought ; 


/ 


THE CLAP-TRAB 151 

As if the very lips and eyes, 

Predesiin’d to have all our sighs 
And never be forgot again, 

Sparkled and spoke before us then I 

So came thy every glance and tone 
When first on me they breathed and shonal 
New, as if brought from other spheres, 

Yet welcomed as if loved for years. ^ 

To the Emperor, with the same sweetness of 
tone, yet with that breathing pathos absent from 
it which had marked the foregoing verses ; 

Then fly witfii me, if thou hast known 
No other flame, nor falsely thrown 
A gem away, that thou had st sworn 
Should never in thy heart be worn. 

But if for me thou dost forsake 
Some other maid, and rudely break 
Her worship’d image from its base 
To give to me the ruined place ; 

Then fare thee well, I’d rather make 
My bower upon some icy lake 
When thawing suns begin to shine, 

Than trust to love so false as thine I 

And so at last : 

The mask Is off, the charm is wrought 
And Selim to his heart has caught 
His Nourmahal, his Harem’s Light I 

Alice suffered her head to fall upon his arm 
and whispered “Remember love, the Feast of 
Roses ” and the curtain fell upon a tableau which 
Thomas Moore himself would not have criticised 
had he been present to witness it. 

During the short interval which followed, 
Thayer kept his eye fixed upon the stage exit 
fondly hoping to see his “Sultana,’’ as he now 


152 


THE BRIDE OF JNFELICE 


termed her to his rapturous heart, come down 
amon^ the audience to witness the remainder of 
the performance, but the curtain went up again, 
and after a brief overture from the band of 
stringed instruments concealed behind the stage, 
the programme continued, and he was forced to 
reconcile himself to the thought of not seeing Alice 
again perhaps before the dance commenced, 
which was arranged to follow the charades. 

And then I Oh, the ecstasy of that prospective 
moment, when in the waltz he would feel her 
heart beating against his own ! — 

He was suddenly brought back to the present 
by the little flutter of polite applause that greeted 
Miss Gladys Dextrell as she made her appear- 
ance on the stage, and recited Schiller’s beau- 
tiful poem, “The Veiled Statue at Sais,” with 
such a display of true appreciation of her poet, as 
to call forth a unanimous encore in which even 
Leonie, the immaculate, being roused to a sense 
of admiration, joined heartily. 

Next came Lieutenant Carruthers and Valois 
in the spinning scene from “ The Courtship of 
Miles Standish.” 

• ' Truly, Priscilla,” he said, “when I see you spinning and spinning, 
Never idle a moment, but thrifty and thoughtful of others. 

Suddenly you are transformed, are visibly changed* in a moment, 
You are no longer Priscilla, but Bertha the beautiful spinner.” 

Here the light hand on the wheel grew swifter and the spindle 
uttered an angry snarl, and the thread snapped short in her fingers; 
Avhile the impetuous speaker, not heeding the mischief, continued* 
“You are the beautiful Bertha, the spinner, the queen of Helvetia: 


THE CLAP-TRAP 


153 


She whose story T read in a stall in the streets of Southampton, 
Who, as she rode on her palfry o’er valley and meadow and monn* 
tain, 

Ever was spinning her thread from a distaff fixed to her saddle. 
She was so thrifty and good that her name passed into a proverb. 
So shall it be with your own, when the spinning wheel shall no 
longer 

Hum in the house of the farmer and fill its chambers with music. 

Then shall the mother, reproving, relate how it was in their child- 
hood. 

Praising the good old times, and the days of Priscilla, the spinner." 

Straight uprose from her wheel the beautiful Puritan maiden, 
pleased with the praise of her thrift from him whose praise was 
the sweetest, and drew from the reel on the table a snowy skein of 
her spinning, making answer meanwhile to the flattering praises 
of Alden: 

“ Come, you must not be idle; if I am a pattern of house-wives, 
Show yburself equally worthy of being the model of husbands. 
Hold this skein in your hands, while I wind it, ready for knitting; 
Then who knows but hereafter, when fashions have changed and 
the manners. 

Fathers may talk to their sons of the good old days of John Alden." 

Thus with jest and laugh, the skein on his hands was adjusted, 
he sitting awkward there, with his arms extended before him ; 
she standing graceful, erect, and winding the thread from his 
finders, sometimes chiding a little his clumsy manner of holding; 
sometimes touching his hands as she disentangled expertly twist 
or knot in the yarn, unawares— for how could she help it?— send- 
ing electric thrills through every nerve of his body. 

Lo! in the midst of this scene, a breathless messenger entered, 
bringing in hurry and heat the terrible news from the village. Yes, 
Miles Standish was dead I Slain by a poisoned arrow, shot down 
in the front of the battle. 

Silent and statue-like stood Priscilla, her face looking backward 
still at the face of the speaker, her arms uplifted in horror; but John 
Alden, upstarting as if the barb of the arrow piercing the heart of 
his friend had struck his own, and had sundered once and forever 
the bonds that held him bound as a captive^ wild with excess of 
sensation, the awful delight of his freedom, clasped almost with 
a groan the motionless form of Priscilla, pressing her close to his 
heart as forever his own, and exclaiming ; 

** Those whom the Lord hath united, let no man put them asun- 
der!" 

Tableau! — pronounced by one unanimous 
accord — -Full of Reality and Pathos ! 


154 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


After this followed Mrs. Rossmore in her Span- 
ish song. 

The curtain rose upon that lady seated on a 
low ottoman at the base of the statue of Chloris. 
Fred Bentwell lay stretched recumbent upon the 
sward at her feet, his head supported on his bent 
arm, his gaze adoringly fixed upon the black-eyed 
siren’s face as she sang her chosen words in that 
soft, seductive tongue and voice so ravishingly sweet 

How fascinating, how beautiful was she I The 
gracefully poised head with its jet locks braided 
and entwined with costly jewels ; the long, white, 
curved throat, the bare and shapely arms., the 
slender, tapering fingers all a-giitter with rubies 
and emeralds and sapphires ; and above all, those 
splendid Eastern orbs, in which there seemed to 
live to-night, above all other lights, that of a sub- 
tle ambition. 

She was fascinating — dangerously so — to such 
men as Sir Philip Camden, and to poor, weak, 
susceptible beings like Fred Bentwell ; but her 
beautiful face and fawning suavity of manner had 
gradually come to be suspected among the judi- 
cious of that circle wherein she moved as being 
but a mask for her stratagem and artifice ; thus, 
when Mrs. Elwood cautiously whispered to her 
husband : “ She reminds me of a beautiful ser- 
pent,” the colonel was not at all reluctant in re- 
plying : “ Yes, very cunning, very artful, I assure 
you, my dear.” 


THE CLAP-TBAP 


165 


“ I don’t like her one bit ! ” openly declared the 
immaculate Leonie Dextrell to Lady Hortense’a 
mother, as the singer, after responding to an en- 
thusiastic recall, was shut off from view. 

“ My dear young lady I ” exclaimed that matron 
brusquely, “you should not be so bold in express- 
ing your likes and dislikes ; it is exceedingly 
vulgar manners,” she added, with an asperity 
which caused the offender to turn tear-brimmed 
eyes toward the curtain, which was about to rise 
on the most important feature of the entertain- 
ment. 

“ A — h ! ” That murmur of delight was fol- 
lowed by a hush so intense that every one seemed 
suddenly to have left off breathing, as Galatea, 
veiled behind a gleaming white transparency, 
stood before them. Galatea, the statuesque, the 
peerless ; Galatea, whose features were immobile 
as the features of that Greek Goddess of Flowers, 
sitting apart. 

Every undulating curve of her perfect form was 
defined under the clinging tunic which swept 
away to her feet, leaving but one faultless arm 
revealed. Her face, utterly void of color, shone 
exquisitely beautiful and clear as Cyprian mar- 
ble, and not so much as a flutter of the long, dark 
lashes hinted that this was a form of life and not 
of stone — not until above the intense hush there 
was heard the sound of approaching footsteps ; 
when the lips were discerned to move slightly 


156 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


apart, and the name ‘‘ Pygmalion ! ’’ issued in 
tremulous accents from them.' 

There was a brief pause ; then the young Athen- 
ian sculptor appeared, arrayed also in his classical 
tunic, and presenting such an exquisite picture 
that a thrill of ecstasy ran through the assembly, 
and the ladies forgot themselves and exclaimed 
aloud : 

“ Beautiful ! “ Divine ! “ Sublime ! ” 

The music was playing a soft symphony from 
Mozart, and above this his voice was heard call- 
ing in a bewildered tone : 

“ Who called ? ” 

“ Pygmalion,’’ again came that calm voice from 
the statue, when impetuously he turned, and, tear- 
ing the veil from before it, exclaimed : 

“Ye gods ! It lives I It speaks ! I have my 
prayer ; my Galatea breathes ! ” 

“ Where am I ? ” again spoke the dream-like 
voice. “ Let me speak. Pygmalion, give me thy 
hand — both hands — how soft and warm ! Whence 
came I ? ” ( Descends.) 

‘ ‘ Why, from yonder pedestal,” said Pygmalion. 

“ That pedestal ? Ah, yes ; I recollect ; there 
was a time when it was a part of me.” 

Tableau. — The twain standing with clasped 
hands gazing into each other’s eyes. 

The lights went down, the music swelled to a 
passionate storm of melody, and slowly the cur- 
tain was rung down as they stood, still looking 


THE CLAP-TRAP 


157 


into each other’s faces — her eyes full of her soul 
which, unconsciously, he was letting the magic 
of his own draw from her ; he wondering at the 
strange expression of her face, and the stranger 
thrill which her trembling hands transmitted 
through his body, like a shock of electricity. 

The tempestuous applause was almost totally 
unheeded by Lady Hortense ; but when a voice 
from behind them said hurriedly : 

“ Keep perfectly still — do not change yonr posi- 
tions, we will have to ring the curtain up again,” 
they both heard and obeyed the peremptory ad- 
monition. 

“ The Athenian Glaucus and Neapolitan lone : 
hero-lovers of the Last Days of Pompeii 1 ” {hell, 
followed swiftly by curtain.) 

“ What is this ? ” gasped Lady Camden, as the 
announcement rang out and echoed back to them. 

Thayer, too astounded to answer, cast a swift 
glance about them. 

What trick was this ? 

True as the scene has been described in ancient 
Pompeii life, they both saw it now depicted before 
them — the maids sitting apart, the lyre lying 
upon the ground near them, the vases of flowers, 
the statue, the spraying fountain, and, standing 
in the background, the wicked priest, Arbaces, his 
black robes floating about him, his arms folded, 
and every feature of his countenance convulsed 
with unholy triumph. 


158 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


In this character, who looked, indeed, more 
fiend than human, Lady Camden recognized Sir 
Philip ; and forgetful of all save the evil plot 
which he had surprised her in, she shrieked 
wildly as he advanced — shrieked wildly in hyster- 
ical laughter, then fell forward swooning in the 
arms of — Glaucus. 

Grand Tableau^ finale I 

{Curtain and confusion.') 


CHAPTER XIX 


THE TALISMAN 

Confusion worse confounded. 

—Milton. 

T he trap had been an ingeniously devised one 
on the part of Sir Philip Camden, and even 
as his innocent victim lay crushed and stunned 
beneath it, he secretly gloated over his skill and 
the tragic manner in which his ruse had termin- 
ated. 

Lady Camden’s swoon was of long duration; and 
when at length she returned to consciousness her 
strength was so far spent that she was compelled 
to retire to her apartments. None, however, aside 
from Sir Philip himself, divined the immediate 
cause of her illness ; none surmised that in ar- 
ranging the garden scene for the theatricals he 
had insidiously planned so that it would also 
resemble in detail a Pompeian peristyle, and 
there would only be required the speedy adjust- 
ment of the maids and Arbaces to make it perfect 
for the tableau of Glaucus and lone. 

“ Sir Philip,” said Mrs. Rossmore, when by 
chance the two met alone in the library the fol- 
lowing morning, after breakfast, “ do you think 
( 159 ) 


160 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


it quite fair to have inveigled me into the blind 
role which I enacted last night ? ” — she had sim- 
ulated the part of a maid — There was a double 
entendre to your ruse ; although you would guard 
it so zealously under the rose, I am certain that 
you willfully and maliciously meant to tyrannize 
over Lady Camden.” 

It was a bold, though skillfully aimed thrust, 
and for an instant Sir Philip stood plainly dis- 
concerted by it ; the next, however, he had col- 
lected himself, when nonchalantly flicking a mote 
of dust from the satin lappel of his coat, he said, 
with well-feigned seriousness : 

“I give you my word, Mrs. Rossmore — a — I 
simply created the surprise as an indulgence to 
my wife, who has aU^^ays evinced a marked prefer- 
ence for the Greek characters of Glaucus and 
lone above all others.” 

“But Arbaces. Was it necessary for Arbaces 
to appear ? ” questioned Dorian, in her shrewdest 
of pretty tones. 

“ Oh, that,” laughed Sir Philip, with a shrug, 
“ was a necessary feature, certainly 1 a feature of 
distinction between the two similar tableaux.” 

“ But why did you assume the role f Her 
emotion, it is generally supposed, was caused 
from sheer terror upon beholding you, as the 
wicked priest.” 

“ It would have been the same had Bentwell, 
or Pometer, or any other taken the part,” Sir 


THE TALISMAH 161 

Philip assured her calmly. “ Her excitement 
was due to her poor health — Lady Camden is 
not at all well. However, I had not anticipated 
that splendid little piece of acting on her part ; 
nevertheless, I was charmed with it. Now con- 
fess, yourself, Mrs. Rossmore, that it was admir- 
ably done for an amateur.^^ 

She made a gesture of impatience. 

“ Have you, then, no regrets on account of her 
illness ? ” she asked, almost petulantly. “ The 
doctor says she may not leave her apartments 
for several days, in which event your house-party 
must needs be brought to an abrupt conclusion.” 

Her fingers had been nervously toying with a 
half blown rose, which rested carelessly amid the 
lace of her gown, and as she finished speaking 
she tore away the blossom and scattered its 
creamy petals broadcast over the carpet. 

It was the action of a vexed child, and Sir 
Philip watched it with an amused smile, and with 
something of triumph in his narrow little eyes. 

“ Of course I am sorry, immeasurably sorry,” 
he said, after his habitual pause. 

‘‘ I little anticipated so unhappy an issue, and 
if I have been the blind medium of shortening 
your stay I deplore it unutterably I Believe me, 
Mrs. Rossmore, when, by my honor I swear that 
I would perpetuate your sojourn at Maplehurst 
were it within my power to do so I” He looked at 
her with his eyes full of an unrighteous fire as he 


162 THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 

fipoke, and she turned from them with apparent 
loathing ; but not before he had noted the quick 
upheaval of her chest and the glittering light 
which leapt into the dark of her eyes, and which 
kindled them to a startling brilliancy. 

She was moving toward the door, but Sir Philip 
pressed forward and intercepted her ere yet 
her hand was upon the knob. 

‘‘ Mrs. Rossmore — Dorian, listen to me ! ” he 
said, and there was a passionate appeal in his voice 
which for'ced her to obey silently, and with her 
eyes bent upon the floor. She was very pale, and 
her bosom still heaved as with some strong in- 
ward emotion; she waited for him to go on. 

“ Your,” he commenced at length, woman’s 
intuition must have led you to divine something 
of the true nature of the feelings existing between 
Lady Camden and myself. You will not be sur- 
prised to hear that we are by no means a felici- 
tous pair ?” 

^ I ? ” she suddenly left off regarding the inter- 
laced leaves on the carpet, and let her creole eyes 
rest steadily upon his face, “ — have I the slightest 
title to surmise anything in relation to your 
domestic affairs ? Why do you make me your 
confessor ? ” she asked impatiently, 

** Why ? because I love you I ” 

A swift color traversed the paleness of her face. 

Oh, this is odious I You speak to me as if I 
were a/emme de chamhre /” she exclaimed angrily. 


THE TALISMAN 


163 


‘‘No,” he retorted, “ I speak to you in all honor 
and sincerity. I love you, oh peerless amongst 
women I with my whole heart, and soul, and life, 
I love you !” 

As the man spoke thus passionately, suddenly 
Dorian assumed a dramatic air : 

*‘ Well,” said she, “ if you love me, what then ? 
Will you give out that the Lady Hortense is 
‘sick and like to die’ ? Will you inquire you 
out some ‘mean born servant’ to administer 
poison to her that you may marry me ? ” 

Sir Philip made a passionate gesture of annoy- 
ance. The woman’s varied moods maddened 
even while they charmed him. 

“ I am not the duke of Glo’ster,” he replied, 
contemptuously. “ I have not for once nourished 
so vile a thought as you would intimate. Ah 
Dorian, how unjust, how unkind, unworthy of 
you ! ” he added reproachfully. 

Dorian bit her lip and dropped her eyes like 
one greatly embarrassed. 

“ No, no ; ” Sir Philip went on presently, and 
his voice was hardly more than a whisper now. 
“ God forbid that I should lift a hand against my 
wife I She is dying surely enough without that ; 
the burden of a disappointed, loveless life is 
killing her.” 

“ Killing her ? ” unconsciously Dorian repeated 
the words, and looked up with that mysterious 
glitter in her eyes, which he had noticed before. 


164 


TEE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Yes ; I give you my word it is true. Life is 
but a question of a few months at longest, with 
her. The doctor assured me only last night, that 
her heart was diseased, and the malady incurable. 
I know — oh Dorian, I know* it is heinous of me 
to say so ; but it was your image that rose up as 
a barrier between my eyes and sleep after I had 
heard this ; it was your image that shut me out 
from all sense of regret, and bade me be glad that 
I would soon be free from the bond that has never 
been congenial to me. Do not abominate me for 
approaching you ere the title is mine to do so ; 
but let me place this ring upon your finger — it is 
all I ask — as a talisman of faith between us. If 
there come a time when I may see that you do 
not wear my gift, I shall interpret by its absence 
that you repel my love; otherwise, until that day 
comes when I can bestow a more deserving title 
upon you, you shall reign the golden incentive of 
my hopes. 

Many flirtations and harmless love affairs 
could Dorian have found in her diary, but she 
had come out of them all unscathed — in her own 
eyes — and the thought of yielding to this illicit 
wooing was distasteful and humiliating to her 
Spanish pride. 

Sir Philip saw her eyes fix themselves with 
quiet curiosity upon the circle of diamonds which 
he held up temptingly between his forefinger and 
thumb, and which was flashing all its varied and 


THE TALISMAN 


165 


brilliant lights under the reflection of a culprit 
sunbeam that glanced through the eastern 
window — he saw them fix themselves there, and 
watched their expression of curiosity swiftly 
change to one of admiration, then bewilderment. 
At last he noted a sudden spasmodic movement 
of the lace upon her bosom, as she shrank away 
from the dazzling glitter of gems, with a pallid 
face and eyes half closed with some new emotion 
which Sir Philip attributed to the revolt of accept- 
ing such a valuable gift from him. 

The thought made him bolder. He possessed 
himself of one of her hands with a sudden action 
which she did not anticipate, and was adjusting 
the ring when they heard footsteps outside the 
door. 

They separated quickly, she flying to one of 
the bookcases under pretense of examining the 
titles of its volumes, he cooly walking toward 
the window and looking out upon the mist- 
swathed river. Thus Alice Meredith found them 
as she opened the door and looked in as if in 
search of some one. 

“ Sir Philip,’^ said the young girl, “ I wanted 
to say to you that I am compelled to take the 
11: 20 train to Boston, if I can possibly make the 
connection. I have just received news of the ill- 
ness of my sister. Lady Camden is sleeping 
quietly under an opiate, and I cannot disturb 
her ; but I have given Anine a note for her in 


166 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


which I have made due explanations.” 

Sir Philip bowed. 

Have you heard if there are any others want- 
ing to go by that train ? ” he asked. 

“ Yes, Mrs. Dextrell and her daughters are 
going ; also the Elwoods and Lieutenant Car- 
ruthers.” 

“ Well — a — if it is not too much trouble, give 
orders for the sleigh to be made ready at once, 
will you ? ” 

Alice bowed and withdrew hurriedly, and after 
a few whispered words to Dorian, Sir Philip also 
left the library to take leave of his departing 
guests. 

Left alone, Mrs. Rossmore plunged into an 
excited soliloquy which was couched in exclam- 
atory phrases chiefly, and in the tongue of France, 
and during which she kept her eyes riveted upon 
the ring which Sir Philip had placed upon her 
finger, among whose twelve large stones there 
sparkled a single emerald of marvelous clearness 
and brilliancy of color. 

“ Ceil ! one emerald and eleven diamonds I 
What a coincidence ! ” She ended with a strange 
laugh, and as she swept from the library a few 
moments later, she murmured the words in an 
ominous undertone : “ Verily, then. Sir Philip 
Camden, the ring shall be a talisman between our- 
selves.^^ 

Once in the hall, she turned and cast a fright- 


THE TALISMAN 


167 


ened glance over her shoulder, as if she half- 
expected to see some grim apparition following 
her, and the voice of Fred Bentwell greeting her 
abruptly, made her cry out involuntarily. 

“ Where have you been, Dorian he asked, ‘‘I 
have been searching everywhere for you. Every- 
one is leaving Maplehurst this morning, don't 
you know ? ” 

“ Are you ? " asked Dorian, recovering herself. 

“ Are you ? ” he asked evasively. 

“ No, I am going by the one-twenty.” 

I am, too. What a pretty ring ! I never saw 
you wear it before — Dorian ! Why do you treat 
me so ?” this in a grieved tone as she snatched 
away the hand which he had made an attempt at 
taking, and ran softly up the stairs, not even 
deigning a glance hack to where he stood looking 
after her with great wounded, almost tearful eyes. 


CHAPTER XX 


BLANCHE 

Bright eyed Fancy hovering o’er, 

Scatters from her pictured urn 
Thoughts that breathe and words that hum. 

—Graf. 

T he letter received from her mother by Alio« 
that morning had been brief, merely stating 
that Blanche was “ not well ” and suggesting that, 
though they apprehended nothing serious, she run 
home for a few days’ visit to gratify the child who 
was constantly lamenting her absence. 

Despite these words of reassurance, however, 
Alice was ill at ease and trembled with strange 
misgivings when at length she paused before the 
many gabled stone house which her heart still re- 
joiced in calling “ home.” 

For an instant she hesitated outside the door 
to listen anxiously. A silence intense as the 
grave seemed to reign within. With a faltering 
hand she turned the silver knob and passed 
noiselessly into the gloom of the great hall, where 
she was greeted by her youngest sister, who had 
been on the look-out for her all the forenoon, and 
who burst from the library crying, “ Oh Allie ! 
( 168 ) 


BLANCHE 


m 

Blanche will be so glad you are come I She has 
been asking for you constantly to-day/’ 

“ Tell me, Olive, darling, how long has she been 
ailing? Is she very ill?” Alice questioned 
eagerly as she bent to kiss the ready lips. 

“She has been sick since Tuesday, but the 
doctor thinks he can save her from having the 
fever very badly, if she is good and doesn’t fret 
over her writing.” 

“Writing I ” repeated Alice in a puzzled tone. 

“ Yes, she begs for her pencil and tablet, and 
the doctor told mamma not to let her have them. 
He says writing ’ll make her head worse,” 
answered the child still vaguely. 

“ I suppose she has been worrying too much 
over her school exercises,” thought Miss Meredith, 
as she suddenly remembered Blanche’s habit of 
pursuing her studies even through vacation 
weeks. 

A few moments later upon entering the invalid’s 
room she found her sister sitting up in a deep easy 
chair, her cheeks glowing as with inward fire, and 
her blue eyes looking far larger and brighter than 
was natural, as they fixed themselves joyously 
upon her. 

After a lingering caress, (Blanche’s arms 
threatened to cling forever around her neck) 
Alice drew a chair very close and taking one of 
the short quick-pulsing hands in hers she 
listened as Blanche spoke of the mysteriouB 


170 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“ writing/’ which she said had been her treasured 
secret since the day after their father’s failure. 
“ I,” said Blanche, ‘‘ commenced my story on 
the day that you and mamma left for Ivendene, 
last October. I was not certain that my first 
literary effort would prove a success, so I worked 
clandestinely until it was completed, when I took 
mamma into my confidence, with the understand- 
ing that she was not to hint a word to you or papa 
about the matter. I gave her the manuscript to 
examine, and the composition at once charmed 
and amazed her. Her words of praise made me 
sanguine of success, and without delay I took my 
story to one of our most popular editors. Unlike 
most journalists, he did not keep me indefinitely 
on the anxious seat, but at once read and 
rendered his opinion of it. While he was not 
effusive over its merits, he was not sparing in 
expressions of encouragement. He bade me study 
assiduously, gave me a list of valuable books to 
read, and told me at which libraries I would be 
certain to find them. He also explained to me 
the simplest and most perfect method of 
arranging my manuscripts and ” 

‘‘ What is it darling ?” asked Alice as the 
speaker paused abruptly and passed her hand to 
her temple. 

“ Oh, it was only one of those shooting pains ; I 
have been taking quinine ; I suppose that is what 
causes them,” said the young girl deprecatingly, 


BLANCHE 


171 


but her voice was not quite so steady as before as 
she continued : 

And — what was I saying ? oh, yes ! and he 
was so good and kind and generous. What do 
you think he paid me for my story 

“ Ten dollars suggested her sister after a 
moment’s reflection. 

“No, twelve. Wasn’t that generous of him ?” 

“ Oh, so generous ! and now my pet, you must 
not talk any more, it is not well for you,” said 
Alice gently, as she felt the little hand in hers 
grow hotter and its pulse quicker. 

“ Oh since you are come I am better, much 
better ! and I have so much to say to you,” 
Blanche went on, heedless of that anxious 
admonition. “ I want to tell you how I came 
home that evening. It was last Monday that I 
took the manuscript, and sat right down and 
studied out a plot for my next story. Oh, it will 
be intricate ; full of passion and pathos and 
originality, it will compose several chapters, 
perhaps will lengthen into a real novel — oh, 
dear !” 

“ Blanche, Blanche, you must be more calm. 
You are making yourself worse.” 

But the expression of intense pain was gone, 
and after that brief vacant look in the eyes, which 
Alice noticed had followed the previous paroxysm, 
the invalid continued : 

‘‘ Ma says she will convert the room adjoining 


172 


TUE BRIDE OF JNFELICE 


the blue suite into a little study for me, where all 
the live-long day I can write, shut away from 
every soul and with only my books for compan- 
ions.’^ 

Suddenly she paused and looked at her sister 
with glistening eyes. 

“You are so calm, so cold, so incredulous ! ” 
she cried. “ You think me raving. I know you do; 
but I am not I Ah no ; mine is a perfectly 
rational happiness ; such joy as mine ambition 
finds. Wait ! after a few years of earnest, pains- 
taking labor, you will be ready enough to believe 

in my talent. I have talent, Mr. L , the editor, 

says so, ma says so, pa says so; all say so, but 
you.” 

“ Oh, you dear, foolish little thing 1 I am all 
that a sister could possibly be in my sentiments 
, of love and pride and credulity. Don’t you 
remember how I used to praise your little child 
essays ? how I used to call you a true little ideal- 
ist when you would bring me your pretty flower 
fables to read ? ” said Alice as she put back the 
long tangled curls from the now tearful face of 
her sister. 

“ But I — I thought you would be a — all enthus- 
iasm over my first real story,” sobbed Blanche, 
burying her face among the cushions of her chair 
and giving herself up to a violent fit of weeping. 

In very despair, after she had spent moments 


BLANCHE 


173 


in vainly trying to soothe her, Alice summoned 
her mother. 

Nothing, however, did Mrs. Meredith’s presence 
avail. She entered the room just at the instant 
when her daughter sank from the hysterical par- 
oxysm into a swoon so white and still, that 
“ death itself seemed there ; ” and ere night she 
had passed into the most malignant form of brain 
fever. 

‘‘Oh, why did I not speak out all my heart’s 
praise of her ? ” sobbed Alice, in frantic self- 
reproach, as she knelt beside the raving girl. 

“ In my anxiety lest any undue enthusiasm 
would have but added fo her excitement, I sup- 
pressed my feelings, and my seeming coldness has 
brought about this dread issue ! ” 

“ No,” said her mother, “ it was to be so. It is 
what has been threatening from the first. The 
doctor has been guarding against it and we have 
hoped, by diverting her mind from those involv- 
ing dream fancies, to subdue the brooding fever ; 
but all my inventions proved useless. I would 
read to her, but no author, however clever, could 
detract her thoughts from those ideal labyrinths. 
She would always sit with her eyes fixed on 
vacancy, as if they were striving to pierce some 
uncertain vista of thought, and with her lips 
moving rapidly, though inaudibly. When I 
would not give her her pencil and tablet, she 
became vexed and cried for you. She was certain 


174 


THE BRIDE OF. INFELICE 


that Allie would be kinder. She wanted you ; 
she craved for you with almost every breath, and 
when you came, the tension of her nerves gave 
way, leaving the fever to triumph.’^ 

“ But if I had never gone away — if I had been 
here from the first, she would have been spared 
all that torture of longing and fretting for me. 
Oh, I have been cruel ! I have been selfishly 
heedless of all save my own pleasures I ” sobbed 
Alice, miserably. 

“ Do not say that, dear child, gently remon- 
strated her mother. ‘‘You are unjust to your- 
self.” 

But Alice would not be comforted. She knelt 
there motionless — her trembling hands clasped 
together, her eyes full of infinite sadness, fixed 
upon the sufferer, and her senses paralyzed to all, 
save the inarticulate babble of those dry, parched 
lips. So the dreary hours dragged on, she now 
and then rising to lave anew the patient’s hot 
forehead, only to resume her crouching posture 
at the bedside. Toward midnight the tempera- 
ture of the weather changed, and from the eaves 
without, melting snow kept up a steady “drip-a- 
drip-a-drip,” which was the only sound to be heard 
during the brief intervals of silence when 
Blanche’s lips were still. Thus, when an 
avalanche, becoming loosened from the roof, fell 
with a dull, heavy thud to the ground below the 
window of the sick-room, Alice started suddenly 


BLANCHE 


175 


from her apathy with a terror-stricken face ; it 
had sounded so like the fall of earth into a new- 
made grave — ah, so cruelly like I — and what were 
those doleful, soul -stirring words which she 
seemed to hear now breathed through the stillness, 
as if born from a sepulcher ? They are old — they 
are the world^s first' story ; they have been 
sounded through infinite ages ; they are ringing 
to-day ; to-morrow will be ringing, and so on 
unto the end of time, as far as the “universe 
spreads its flaming walls.” 

Earth to earth, dust to dust, ashes to ashes. 

The words seemed to come now as a precursor 
of doom, and she shrank from them with an 
agonized cry. 


CHAPTER XXI 


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 

Tremble, thou wretch, 

That hast within thee undivulged crimes 
Un whipped of justice. 

—Shakespeare. 

I T was Thursday night. 

Sir Philip Camden seemed ill at ease as he 
glanced at the dial of the clock whose hour-hand 
indicated a quarter of ten. 

Fifteen minutes more and he would stand face 
to face with M. Alphonse Favraud, his would-be 
assizor — the object of his life’s fiercest hatred. 
Fifteen minutes more, and the “ dead past ” would 
be resurrected through the medium of one whose 
“soul he fain would sear with his brimstone 
curses whose body he ought to have seen 
wrapped in its grave-shroud ere he had turned 
his face from Europe, seven years ago. 

What page in his mysterious past record could 
have been so black that he shuddered and grew 
pale, stoical man though he was, at the thought 
of turning back to it, after so long ? What crime 
so foul impregnated his life that he grew dizzy 
and almost reeled, as it rose up now, in ghastly 
hideousness, to menace him ? 

( 176 ) 


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 


177 


The December night was one of intensest fury. 
What with the steady soughing of the winds, the 
clashing of the naked birch trees beneath them, 
the black sheets of rain, accompanied by lurid 
darts of lightning and now and then earthquak- 
ing peals of thunder, made mightier by the deep 
reverberations which they woke along the risen 
waters of the Merrimac, all the demons of inferno 
seemed to have been let loose in the elements. 

But within the library at Maplehurst, in which 
apartment Sir Philip awaited the coming of his 
guest, all was at delightful variance with the outer 
tempests. A huge pine-log roared and crackled 
in the deep open fireplace, its red radiance put- 
ting to shame the pale light which streamed from 
the many -jetted chandelier, and throwing into 
bold relief each object of the room, from the 
statues of the poets to the tiers of books reaching 
almost to the ceiling. Near the center of the 
room stood a small India table, upon which were 
temptingly set out several decanters and glasses, 
and a case of choice cigars. 

Here reigned the spirit of luxury in all his su- 
premacy, and as the master of Maplehurst paced 
to and fro, with the restlessness of a caged beast, 
he occasionally lifted his eyes from the floor to ^ 
take a careful survey of the apartment, at which 
moments his face would change its scowling look 
to an expression of triumph, in which was min- 
gled a sneering defiance ; while he would move 


178 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICS 


as if suddenly inspired with new pase and self- 
reliance. Thus with the shadow of the Avenger 
and the more palpable form of Satan alternately 
there as his companions, minute succeeded min- 
ute until at last ten slow and muffled strokes 
resounded through the stillness. 

Almost as the last one died, footsteps were 
heard coming along the tiled floor outside the 
library. At the sound Sir Philip hastily seated 
himself near the reading table, in a well-assumed 
attitude, as if being engrossed with the journals 
which were scattered about him. 

The footsteps ceased, and there came the ser- 
vant’s conventional rap upon the door. There 
was nothing of their recent hatred in Sir Philip’s 
eyes as, at the announcement of, “ Monsieur, the 
Frenchman,” he glanced up quietly as though 
“ monsieur ” had been an utter stranger. 

He made a gesture for his guest to enter, with- 
out rising, or making any change whatever in his 
position — not even did he lay aside the paper 
which he held — and with a nod dismissed the 
servant. 

As Monsieur Favraud stepped inside the room, 
his eyes, having been long accustomed to the 
darkness without, blinked as they came in con- 
tact with the strong fire-light; but there was 
nothing of embarrassment in his mien when he 
encountered all the Oriental splendor about him 
and Sir Philip sitting there, looking a veritable 


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 


179 


Sultan in his robes of purple and gold (he wore 
his dressing gown) and with his fat feet incased 
in embroidered slippers and resting luxuriously 
upon an ottoman of gold-embossed velvet. His 
withered, half-starved looking face even wore an 
amused smile as, without a word, he advanced 
toward the chair indicated by his host and seated 
himself, crossing his legs as if in sly mimicry of 
Sir Philip’s own attitude. 

Monsieur Favraud was a man of perhaps forty 
years of age, and might once have been of prepos- 
sessing presence, but his face was now prematurely 
worn and stamped with the traces of dissipation ; 
his crisp black hair was streaked with grey, and 
clung in unkempt bits about his ears and collar- 
less neck; his eyes were black, and keen and 
bright as those of a fox ; and they floated perpet- 
ually about in their orbits with an expression 
half cynical, half cunning. 

After they had leisurely taken in each separate 
piece of furniture and bric-a-brac, had carefully 
studied the texture of the carpet, had winked and 
blinked at the well-bound volumes, had squinted 
at the busts pf Shakespeare and of Milton and of 
Schiller, they leveled themselves upon the coun- 
tenance of Sir Philip Camden. 

For full sixty seconds the two men sat staring 
at each other in strained silence, when each broke 
out simultaneously with the one word : 

“Well?” 


180 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Pause ; during which the Frenchman watched 
the face of his vis-a-vis grow dark as a thunder- 
bolt under his cool, penetrating gaze — a gaze in 
which there was not merely coolness and penetra- 
tion, but amusement, triumph and defiance as 
well. 

At length Sir Philip spoke : 

“ I had scarcely expected you to keep your 
appointment on such a night as this, mon ami. 
By Jove ! you must have traveled through water 
enough to swim a ship.” 

His attempt at pleasantry was accompanied by 
a swift glance from the dripping hair to the soaked 
boots of his guest ; and while he feigned indiffer- 
ence at sight of the muddy little stream of water 
which was trickling from his clothes and forming 
an ugly dark spot upon the crimson velvet car- 
pet, Monsieur Favraud did not fail to see the 
sneer which lurked about the scarred lip under 
his moustache, and w'hich belied his calm. 

“Ha!” laughed the Frenchman, as he, too, 
glanced down upon the stain, “upon my word it 
is too bad that you were compelled to receive me 
in this sad plight, my liege. Thunder, lightning 
and rain did somewhat mar the pleasure of my 
ride, — and my fine clothes. But I am still as 
rugged as when last you knew me ; rugged, in 
fact, as the proverbial Russian bear, ha, ha I and 
I would have dared to ride those seven miles 
through fire and brimstone, rather than have sac- 


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 


181 


rificed this meeting. Ahem ! ’^rising and stretching 
himself, “ but this is what I call real luxury ! By 
your permission, milord, I will sit nearer the fire 
to dry my clothes, and (if you don’t mind waiting 
on me) I would not refuse one of your cheering 
draughts — I have not forgotten how well you can 
mix a draught — Tiow excellently well 

Sir Philip inly writhed ; but his actions being 
almost invariably in opposition to his thoughts, 
he rose and studiously arranged a chair upon the 
huge bear-skin in front of the fire ; then with his 
usual deliberation, after Favraud was seated 
therein, he set to work to concoct the drink, the 
water for which he heated upon a small alcohol 
lamp which sat close at hand. 

Monsieur Favraud sat watching his every 
movement through half-shut eyelids, and when 
the stimulant was ready. Sir Philip moved the 
India stand up to the hearth, and, seating himself 
opposite his guest, they both sipped for a moment 
in silence, after which space of time, Favraud 
observed, nonchalantly : 

“ You were surprised to learn of my being in 
America, doubtless, eh. Sir Philip ? ” 

“ Surprised ? Well — a— yes ; but not disagree- 
ably so. I was gratified to know — I was — ” 

“ Tickled to think I had escaped the noose as 
well as yourself, eh ? ” 

“ Chut ! not so loud — yes.” 

“ Ha ! tongue as smooth as ever, old chap I I 


182 


TaE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


do not believe you; pardoriy monsieur, I know your 
sly tricks and ways ! I have not forgotten how 
you duped me once by your devilish suavity. I 
have not forgotten poor Julie — ” 

Hush ! not so loud, for God’s sake ! my name 
and reputation are well established in America. 
Do not rummage among rotten, leaves !” 

“ If I were more beast and less human I would 
scratch among them until I had unburied that 
moldy carcass which you have hidden from the 
world, and perdition catch my soul, if I wouldn’t 
prove you the hound you used me, and carry the 
rot with your name on it to the Lord High 
Executioner of France ! Ha ! you would have 
triumphed over my broken neck ; but I cheated 
you. Circumstantial evidence is by no means a 
sure-footed ground for the law to stand on I ” 
With this, M. Favraud coolly selected and lit 
a cigar, at which he puffed away in keen enjoy- 
ment for a moment; then shifting the weed to the 
corner of his mouth, he went on : 

The Paris detectives are assiduous, persever- 
ing, indomitable ; do not make too certain of your 
safety, Philip — pardon! Sir Philip. The world 
is small, remember, and it is difficult to find a 
secure hiding place in it.” 

Again Sir Philip writhed inly, and again 
checked the hot curses which rose to his lips. 

“But,” said he, leaning over the table, and 
lowering his voice to a whisper, “by what 


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 


m 


possible chance could they he led to suspect, let 
alone prove mg, unless you yourself would pro- 
claim the denouement f 

“ I did not dupe the law without a purpose,” 
said M. Favraud, “ I was not insane for weeks 
after my imprisonment ; I had not forgotten the 
past completely as if it had never existed when 
my reason returned, all for nothing, mon ami / I 
would have profited nothing from justice had I 
chosen to criminate you ; but by cheating them 
of an evidence which would have put them on 
your track I promised myself (in your name) a 
handsome compensation.” 

“ At what price do you estimate your services?” 

“ Fifty thousand dollars down will do to com- 
mence with, and a signed contract, which I have 
written out and which secures me a yearly allow- 
ance of money ; also a passport into the world 
that acknowledges you as Sir Philip CamdenP 

Sir Philip sat briefly regarding his guest with- 
out responding. Then he said : “ Oh, very well I 
A — Let me read the paper.” 

Monsieur Favraud, after some difficulty, pro- 
duced the document, and after looking it over and 
finding fault with the bad ink in which the 
clauses were written, his host signed them, and 
also affixed his signature to a check on his 
banker for fifty thousand dollars. 

These he folded and enclosed, then said, as he 
handed the packet to his triumphant companion: 


184 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICB 


“You had better see a tailor the first thing 
to-morrow, permit me to suggest.” 

“ Thanks, I shall, said Monsieur, with 
ludicrous humility, “ and now will you tell me,” 
he asked when the leathern pocket-book with its 
precious contents was safely tucked away in hif 
inside pocket, “ will you tell me, if aside from 
this magnificent country retreat, you support also 
a maison de ville ? ” 

“ No ; ” said Sir Philip, “ we will occupy winter 
apartments at an hotel.” 

“ I hear your wife is beautiful,” observed Mon- 
sieur Favraud, but Sir Philip pretended not to 
have heard the allusion to Lady Hortense. 

“ Let me replenish your glass,” said he, lifting, 
as he spoke, the steaming and spicy beverage 
from the alcohol flame over which he had been 
holding it. “ Drink to ” 

“ To the health of Maurice Dubois !” intercepted 
the Frenchman. “ That being,” he added, “ the 
cognomen under which I desire to be recognized 
in my new life.” 

So, accordingly, the toast was pledged, and Sir 
Philip could scarce conceal his evil triumph as 
he watched the last drop disappear from the 
Frenchman’s glass. 

“You will not attempt to ride back to L 

to-night,” he observed, as a few minutes later M. 
Favraud took up his hat, and began straighten- 


THE SPIDER AND THE FLY 


186 


ing its damp and shapeless brim, as if preparing 
for departure. 

“Certainly I shall, replied the Frenchman, 
sleepily, “ Thunder and lightning, and rain, could 
not prevent me. I [yawn], I am a bird of all 
weathers, and am as [yawn], as rugged as a Rus- 
sian bear. Those papers ! did I put them — yes, 
they are safe in my pocket-book. I say Philip 
[yawn], how many glasses of punch have I 
taken ? 

“ I am afraid quite enough to make you tipsy,’’ 
answered mine host, laughing silently. 

“Not by a jug-full am I tipsy. I believe you 
have drugged me again, you consummate vil- 
lain 1” 

He rose and attempted to walk across the floor, 
but tottered and reeled against the table, almost 
overturning it. 

Sir Philip made an angry exclamation as the 
glasses clashed together noisily. He feared the 
disturbance would bring one of the servants to 
the library, and the thought made him turn blue 
in the face, for it was the one thing he did not 
want to happen. 

He waited a moment until all was silent again ; 
then he assisted the man back to his chair. 

“ You had better come with me upstairs, Fav- 
raud, and go to bed,” he said, as he did so. “ The 
.storm still continue j, and you are in no condition 
to ride seven miles alone, and with those papers 


186 


THE BRIDE OF JNFELICE 


in your pocket ; come, be reasonable ! You can 
slip down the back stairs in the morning as early 
as suits you, and go quietly away from Maple- 
hurst.” 

“ But my horse, my horse ? ” hiccoughed the 
Frenchman uneasily. 

“ I will take care that nothing troubles your 
horse. He shall be waiting for you.” 

“ Oh, you — you — hie — curse you ! I know your 
tricks and — hie — ” the sentence was not finished. 
Monsieur Favraud had collapsed into a deadly 
stupor. Sir Philip stood over his victim possessed 
with a horrible feeling, which made him want to 
shout in his awful exultation. But no sound 
escaped him. 

He stooped over the half-famished body of the 
Frenchman, and, taking it up in his strong arms, 
he passed with it from the room, and thence 
through a small corridor leading to the back stairs. 
Up these he toiled with his lifeless burden ; and 
in less than fifteen minutes he returned to the 
library with his villainous night’s work com- 
pleted. Monsieur A-lphonse Favraud was a pris- 
oner in the towers of Maplehurst. 


CHAPTER XXII 


A 8UBTEKFUGB 

I had a dream which was not all a dream. 

— Byron's “ Darkness.” 

H OW to defend himself against his secret 
threatening foe, had been the all engrossing 
subject of Sir Philip Camden’s thoughts since the 
night of the ball, when Monsieur Favraud had 
made known to him his ominous presence, and 
now with the successful issue of his scheming, 
he felt himself once more an enfranchised son 
of Fortune, and as he returned to the library he 
drew the first breath of freedom that he had 
known for a week. 

As he sat silently gloating over the splendid 
success of his plot to get rid of the Frenchman, 
he congratulated the fates for relieving him of 
his valet by confining him to his room with 
quinsy ; for he had trusted Tate as far as he 
desired, in admitting to him that he had been 
watched, and in employing him as an embassador 
as far as the line of discretion. From this to the 
end of the chapter he would rule sole master of 
his secret. There yet, however, remained one 
obstacle to overthrow in order to secure himself. 
(187) 


188 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Bartholemew, the footman, who had announced 
his late visitor, was doubtless at that very 
moment awaiting in the servant’s hall to be 
summoned to see him forth. It was expedient 
for Barth to be at once dismissed from service at 
Maplehurst. 

Sir Philip arose and rang the bell. Then he 
went to his secretary and counted out some 
money in greenbacks. 

While thus engaged the footman entered the 
library and stood waiting to be addressed. 

“ I rang for you ten minutes ago. Why did 
you not answer my summons at once ?” Sir 
Philip demanded at length, as he lifted his 
scowling visage from the roll of bills and glared 
at the man. 

“ I did not hear the bell, your honor,” answered 
the footman, paling beneath the look. 

“ Why didn’t you hear it ?” 

“ Guess I must ha’ been asleep, y’r honor.” 

“ Asleep, eh ? For how long were you asleep ?” 

“ I guess nigh on to an hour, y’r honor.” 

“ Slothful puppet ! Dolt ! Well, my guest is 
gone. I have humiliated myself by performing 
the office of footman. You can leave Maplehurst 
as early as suits you to-morrow. I am done with 
your services. Here is your month’s pay ; take it 
and get out of my sight 1” 

The servant took the money and went away 
crest-fallen, and soon after Sir Philip, having 


A SUBTERFUGE 


189 


concluded his role for this night, betook him 
toward his own bed-chambej. 

He was passing by Lady Hortense^s apartments 
when the thought suddenly seized him : 

“ She or Anine may have been spying upon my 
movements. I will just look in to convince 
myself whether they are asleep.” 

Stealthily he lifted the heavy silken portieres 
which divided the ante-chamber from the bed- 
room, and noiselessly crossed the threshold. 

A dim light revealed the lilac draped bed with 
its sleeping occupant, lying with one white bare 
arm enthroned above her head and her beautiful 
face a trifle flushed as if with exciting dreams. 
Her hair, unconfined, escaped from the pillow 
and fell to the carpet in waves of luxuriant 
beauty ; while now and then her bosom rose and 
fell quickly, as if shaken by some strong under- 
current of emotion. As Sir Philip moved toward 
the bed cautiously, she stirred slightly and 
uttered a little half-gasping cry, similar to that 
made by a drowning person ; then as she settled 
back into her former position he saw her lips 
move and heard these words escape them : 

Blood-dyed waters murmuring far below.” 

Again she moved, and now there was a 
perceptible fluttering of the eyelids. Fearful 
lest she were awakening and would become 
needlessly alarmed at his presence, (he hated 
scenes) he stepped backward into the shadow of 


190 


THE BRIDE OF JNFELICE 


the alcove draperies and as he did so his foot 
came suddenly in contact with Anine^s pallet, 
which since Lady Hor tense’s illness the girl had 
been wont to bring in and arrange within 
convenient call of her mistress. 

“ Milady !” cried the ever wakeful girl, starting 
breathlessly into a sitting posture as Sir Philip’s 
foot touched her. “ Milady — Monsieur, what is 
it ? has anything happened to my mistress ?” 

The dark face bent over her ; she could feel the 
hot offensive breath upon her face. 

“ Shut up I ” Sir Philip whispered fiercely. 

Nothing has happened. I just stepped in to 
see if your mistress slept well. You will waken 
her by your infernal gabble I ” 

He let his hand fall heavily upon her shoulder 
as he finished speaking, and thrust her back upon 
the pillows, where the poor girl lay tremulously 
watching him as he carefully withdrew from the 
room. 

“ Strange man I ” she muttered to herself as 
she heard the ante-chamber door close behind 
him. “ Why came he to my lady’s chamber at 
this hour ? He is a strange, strange man, and I 
like him not. Of late I have come to look upon 
him with instinctive fear and suspicion.” 

At this moment there came a terrified shriek 
from her mistress’ bed. 

“ Merciful Heaven ! Save me ! ” she screamed. 

With the agility of a fawn, Anine sprang up- 


A SUBTERFUGE 


191 


right, and the next moment was beside Lady 
Hortense. 

“ Milady, Milady,’’ she said gently, and at the 
sound of her voice Lady Hortense ceased her con- 
vulsive breathing, opened her eyes and sprang 
into a sitting posture. 

For a moment she sat staring before her with 
dilated eyes, and with one hand clutched tightly 
over her heart, whose pulsation came so loudly 
that Anine heard every throe plainly. 

“ Milady, you have been dreaming some 
unpleasant dream,” said the girl as she bent over 
her reassuringly. 

“ Dreaming ? — then it — it was not reality ? — 
You are here Anine ? ” 

Lady Hortense let her hand stray tremulously 
up and down the white-clad form as she spoke ; 
and then as she convinced herself that it was not 
a wraith of her dream, she sank back upon the 
pillows and covered her face with both hands, 
shuddering violently. 

“ Oh 1 it was all so horrible — so horrible I ” she 
gasped, and all through the remaining hours of 
the night she lay unable to close her eyes again 
in slumber, for fear it would return — that dream 
“ which was not all a dream.” 

The next morning, as she sat alone over a late 
breakfast. Sir Philip sent word that as soon as con- 
venient he wished to confer with her on a matter 


192 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


of moment, and would be awaiting her in the 
library. 

“I have taken apartments in town for the 
winter,” he said, when a few moments later she 
stood before him. “ Have A nine pack your trunks 
immediately, as I want to have you conveyed to 
L in time for the 3: 20 train this afternoon.” 

Lady Hortense, though taken aback by this 
sudden announcement, only said : “I thought we 
were not to leave Maplehurst before the holidays. 
However, I shall be ready.” 

He scanned narrowly the face towering above 
him, like a proud and flawless lily, the face which 
each day was growing more white and spirituelle 
in its loveliness, and after a moment she turned 
from the surveillance, thinking he had nothing 
more to say. But she had proceeded only a few 
steps toward the door, when he arrested her with 
that peculiar guttural sound which she had come 
to despise : “ A — Mrs. Rossmore commences her 
series of ‘at-homes’ to-night. We will go.” 

At these peremptory words she turned and 
again faced him ; and he smiled to himself as he 
noted the scornful curl of her lips. 

“ Go, you. Sir Philip, by all means,” said she. 
Then she added resolutely, and with an arrogant 
backward movement of the head, “ I shall not 
attend Mrs. Rossmore’s ‘at homes.’ I shall not 
go into society at all this winter.” 

He shrugged his shoulders. 


A SUBTERFUGE 


193 


Oh I that as you please, Lady Camden ; 
however, I should advise you to reflect well 
before making yourself such a recluse ; it would 
only make your misery ten times the harder to 
bear, and would by no means be a safeguard 
against esclandre. It is already being whispered 
about in our circle that your modern Glaucus 
will marry your protSgSe^ Miss Meredith. You 
will make the world say that you are dying of 
jealousy.” 

She closed her hands with a quick spasm of 
pain, then swiftly recovering herself, replied : 
“All the world may say so ; but God will know 
the truth. He will know it is not so ! He will 
not suffer such false accusations to prosper 
against the innocent I ” 

As she spoke she regarded him fixedly with eyes 
of fiery resentment. So intensely at that moment 
did he hate her beautiful, proud, yet scoffing 
image that it was only by a great effort he re- 
pressed the impulse to curse her aloud, as he had 
often cursed her in the secret vileness of himself. 

“Heaven knows, my dear,” he said, when his 
angry paroxysm had passed, and now his voice 
was smothered in derisive laughter, “ that there 
are a great many wrong and unjust things said in 
this world. How many innocent ones like your- 
self are daily branded with foulest calumny! Now, 
if you had only allowed yourself to love me, as I 


194 


THE BRIDE OF INFELJCE 


deserve to be loved, what a safeguard you would 
have found the bonds of wedlock ! ” 

At his words there rose within her a cry of 
bitter anguish ; a cry which she could not put in 
words, but which throbbed in every fibre of her 
being like the voice of Death. 

She felt that her nerves were being strained to 
their utmost tension, and that to stay in his pres- 
ence for another moment would be insuiferable ; 
BO with a face as white and fixed as stone she 
turned and left him. 

In the hall she found Anine awaiting her with 
a letter from i\lice Meredith, and not having 
heard from her friend since she had left Maple- 
hurst, she eagerly opened and read the hastily 
penned lines : 

“I write you, my dearest friend, during a brief interval 
snatched from the bedside of our darling Blanche, who 
has not spoken an intelligent word since she was stricken 
down with the fever, last Friday night. She is danger- 
ously ill, but God will not let our loved one die. I do 
not believe He will ! This time of weary watching and 
suspense is replete with prayer. Do you think He would 
turn a heedless ear to such petitions as ours ? They are 
full of tears and heart-throes and self-sacrifices ! 

Do not think me wanting in love and gratitude that I 
left you as I did, when you were unconscious of my going. 
I have not heard a word from you since I left Maplehurst, 
and I am filled with anxiety lest you are yet ill. Will 
you send some one to me with a message? It would 
relieve this pain of uncertainty and make me stronger to 
endure another night’s vigil beside my sister. 

Dear ma is worn out with the suspense of long days 
and nights. Mrs. Elwood and Valois were with us all of 
yesterday and last night. 

They are the very noblest of friends ! Valois is inval- 
uable as a nurse, and is now with Blanche trying to hush 


A SUBTERFUGE 


195 


her strange ravings with a softly tuned hymn — her voice 
comes to me faintly as I write— and as I listen I suddenly 
miss that other wailing and delirious cry. For the first 
time in seven days and nights Blanche is quiet ! Oh, 
thank God ! If for but one moment her ravings are sub- 
dued she must be better ! In spite of all I have dropped 
a tear on my miserable little letter; but I know, dearest 
Hortense, you will overlook this and send an early reply 
to Your troubled friend, 

Alice Meredith.” 

As she replaced the letter in its envelope there 
were tears in Lady Hortense’s eyes : 

“ I will do better than send a message. I will 
attend you in your vigils to-night, my noble, sweet 
friend,” she said to herself, as she went slowly up 
the stairs — ah ! how slowly, pausing ever and 
again to recover her breath. 

As she bent with Anine over her trunks, intent 
with preparations for their early departure, the 
latter heard her singing tremulously to herself, 
while tears fell in and wet the folded finery which 
had come to be, like the balls and operas and 
feasts by which her existence was measured ofif, 
“ only dross, only dross ! ” and while the girl 
understood not the words of her song, the sad 
sentiment thereof she felt instinctively, and ere she 
could check them her own tears were falling fast. 

“ Mon Dieu ! ” thought the sympathetic French 
girl as she had thought many times of late to her- 
self, “ what has come over my dear mistress to 
make her so changed from the Lady Hortense 
who brought me from my home in the Pyrenees 
not a year ago ? ” 


CHAPTER XXIII 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 
God tempers the wind to the shorn lamb. 

—Sterne. 

LL day a fine drizzling mist had fallen, and 



n at five o’clock, just as Lady Hortense and 
her maid reached their apartments in the heart 
of Boston, it commenced raining in torrents. 

Sir Philip had not accompanied them to the 
city. He had stayed behind to see to the closing 
up of Maplehurst, and to impress the one servant, 
a negro man who was to remain to guard the 
premises, with his duties. 

Ephriam was to sleep in the stable loft ; and 
right zealously did Sir Philip guard against any 
possible access to the interior walls of Maple- 
hurst and the egress of his prisoner. Monsieur 
Alphonse Favraud, from the tower thereof. 

Every window was closely shut and barred ; 
every door double-locked and bolted, and all the 
keys safely deposited in his own pockets. So, 
with his evil soul entirely at ease. Sir Philip now 
found himself rolling over the storm-rent high- 
way toward the railroad station. He reached 
their town quarters at seven o’clock, and found 


( 196 ) 


IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW 


197 


the rooms in profound quiet and darkness. 

As he stood conjecturing, curiously rather than 
with any feeling of anxiety, upon Lady Hortense’s 
unexplained absence from the nest which would 
have made hundreds of hearts sick with envy, 
she was closeted with Alice Meredith, crying 
with her, praying with her, condoling with her ; 
for the crisis had come, and poor tired Blanche 
was lying in the adjoining room, her face void of 
all expression save that restful one which the 
Archangel bestows in saying, “ Peace be still !” 
her breath, if coming at alk coming undiscerned, 
and her little transparent hands crossed over her 
breast in the stillness of marble. 

Over her bent an anxious, white-faced mother, 
who gave to every breath she drew, a tear ; who 
gave with every tear a whispered word to Him 
upon whose infinite mercy the fate of her darling 
hung ; whose hearing ear and seeing eye alone 
divined whether this was ‘‘a little slumber, a 
little folding of the hands to sleep,” in Life or 
Death. Almost without a sound, save that 
doleful and monotonous one which the clock gave 
out, the leaden hours passed until it was night no 
longer. 

It was that hour when all breathing nature 
is at its lowest tide ; when prayers had ceased 
and tears had dried themselves in very exhaustion ; 
when sobs and he art- throes had given place to a 
silence that scarcely pulsed, and when suspense 


198 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


with its drooping pinions, one of hope, one of 
despair, seemed gradually to be sinking into 
lifelessness. Mrs. Meredith had not once changed 
her position at the bedside of her darling. The 
eyes which were riveted upon that still and 
peaceful face had grown so wild and hunted in 
their expression that to have glanced at her a 
stranger would have thought her intellect 
distorted. Over the bed leaned another form — 
that of good old Doctor Congrave, who had 
ministered to the Merediths through • three 
generations. 

He held to the lips of the sleeper a piece of 
silvered glass ; and his palsied hand shook 
violently as he bent his grey head nearer and 
nearer to the pillow upon which rested the 
tangled golden head of his heart’s dear foster- 
child” — as he called the three lovely grand- 
children of Marion, his once sweetheart, who was 
lying beneath her mossy marble slab at Charles- 
town — and the time seemed age-long in which he 
stooped there, his withered features quivering 
with latent emotion, his breath hushed and 
anxiety dimming his kindly eyes, ready at any 
moment to dissolve into tears of happiness or grief. 

Mrs. Meredith sat with locked fingers and lips 
half parted, ready for the soul-staying or 
despairing cry that must soon come in answer to 
the pending verdict of that aged prophet bending 
there. 


JN THE VALLEY OE THE SHADOW 


199 


Oh ! that silence was agonizing ! At last the 
tension of her strained nerves gave way, causing 
her to cry out faintly, yet without uttering any 
rational word. 

At the sound the doctor lifted his disengaged 
hand. 

Surely that gesture was not born of despair ! 

Another moment passed; the next he looked 
up, and now there was a light in his face which 
transfigured it, making it like the face of a saint. 

“ She will live !” he faltered. Then as he 
walked over to the dawn-lit window to hide his 
emotion, Mrs. Meredith slipped down upon her 
knees beside the bed, burying her face in the 
coverlits, lest she should yield to the impulse to 
shriek out in the pain of that ecstasy which was 
beating its pinions wildly against her heart. 
Long she knelt there in sobbing prayer of 
thanksgiving ; and all the shadows softly 
dispersed themselves from the room, leaving the 
“candle of understanding’’ to shed its tender 
light ahead of the spirit which was slowly 
winging its flight back from the arms of Death. 

For many hours the invalid slumbered in the 
even respiration of perfect and dreamless sleep. 
When she awoke it was noon. 

“Allie 1” they heard her say. “I want Allie.” 

She came, and the two sisters clasped hands 
and gazed long and silently into each other’s 
faces. 


200 


THE BRIDE OE INFELICE 


“ Forgive me ! ” whispered the sick girl at 
length. “ I said, a moment ago, that you were 
bold and skeptical. I said cruel things, for 
which I am very sorry. You do believe in my 
talent as a writer, don'^t you ?” 

“ Of course I do, my darling 
“ I am very, very tired,’’ said Blanche, “ but 
there is something here that makes me so hap- 
py,” placing one hand over her heart, “ and my 
fever is all gone. Did you enjoy yourself at Ma- 
plehurst ? I read a full account of the ball in 
the papers, and they described your toilet. You 
must have looked beautiful 1” 


CHAPTER XXIV 


HER STRATAGEM 

For her own breakfast she’ll project a scheme, 

Nor take her tea without a stratagem. 

—Young. 

M eanwhile sir Philip Camden had been 
basking in the light of Dorian Rossmore’s 
eyes, forgetful of all save the mad infatuation 
which they engendered, and the knowledge that 
she still wore his talisman. 

Yes, that hoop of glittering diamonds, with the 
single emerald shining out like a venomous eye, 
and it alone had flashed from the soft fairness of 
his hostess’ hand last night, and whatever true 
sentiments breathed in the breast of the beautiful 
creole toward himself. Sir Philip had been su- 
premely unconscious of all save the fact that he 
viewed her standing on the stepping stones of his 
one ambition, and looking at him with her glori- 
ous eyes full of a fire which he flattered himself 
was love ! 

He did not dream what dangerous poison 
lurked beneath the fascination of those eyes ! 

A famous tenor of the day composed one of 
Mrs. Rossmore’s guests, and as he was about to 
( 201 ) 


202 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


favor the eager asserablage with some choice 
selections, Dorian managed, by one of her grace- 
ful manoeuvers, to sit near Sir Philip, who leaned 
against the door casement, apart from that portion 
of the room where most of the guests had col- 
lected. At a signal from his hostess, showing 
that she was aware of his proximity, he ap- 
proached and took up his station at her elbow. 

The prelude was ended ; and now the rich, 
soul-stirring notes of the songster were filling the 
room, except for which sound that silence reigned 
which is so eloquent of profound and undivided 
interest; thus it was with difiiculty that Sir 
Philip contrived presently to whisper to his fair 
neighbor, who was bending forward with ecstatic 
ear, for the moment forgetful of all save that pow- 
erful, magnetic voice : 

“ Dorian, the evening is more than half spent, 
and I have had scarcely a word alone with you. 
Cannot you manage to slip away presently to the 
conservatory, where we can have an uninterrupted, 
if brief, tete-a-tete f ” 

She evinced no sign of having heard him ; nev- 
ertheless, when the Signor had finished his meas- 
ure, and all were crowding round him, clamoring 
for another song, Mrs. Rossmore did “ manage,’^ 
and that very adroitly, to disappear ; and in the 
midst of the distraction, none saw her go, save Sir 
Philip, who also, as the clapping of hands and bab- 
ble of voices continued, vanished as if by magic. 


HER STRATAGEM 


203 


The cloisters, toward which he crept stealthily, 
were almost in utter darkness. They had been 
brilliant with colored lights half an hour ago, and 
rightly Sir Philip guessed that his enchantress 
had invented the darkness as a safeguard against 
the exposure of their tryst, which certainly was 
hazardous. 

Vaguely, as he entered there, he defined her 
tall form, standing half merged in the shadow of 
an oleander tree. With a quick bound he was 
beside her, and she shrunk not from his arm as 
it engirdled her waist, but greeted him with a 
warmth of pretty words, and listened with seem- 
ing eagerness to the words of mad infatuation 
which he poured into her ear — words which made 
her secretly think him more of a real Arbaces than 
he had seemed in the tableau at Maplehurst. 

“ How is Lady Camden, to-night ? ” she asked, 
when he had released her, and they were seated 
under the oleander tree. “Why is she not here?’^ 

“ I do not know,” returned Sir Philip. “ Why 
do you choose to remind me at this supreme 
moment, of her existence ? ” 

“ She is one of the stern realities of life — a 
reality in which I am mostly interested. Do you 
know what people are saying ? ” asked Dorian, 
abruptly. 

“ No,” answered Sir Philip with laconic indiff- 
erence. 

“It is rumored that your modern Glaucus 


204 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


rescued her from a pair of mad runaway horses 
some weeks before the ball. It seems she had 
not been aware of her preserver’s identity until 
fate brought them again face to face on that 
night. One who watched the introduction pass 
between them had also been an eye-witness to the 
runaway. He had seen young Volney rush into 
the street and stay the beasts, then assist Lady 
Camden, who was all but swooning, from the 
coupe and lead her into an apothecary’s shop. 
He, my authority, says that Lady Camden was 
greatly agitated upon being introduced to him. 
This makes it easy to divine why she did not 
want to take the part of Galatea with his Pyg- 
malion, and yet the easier to interpret the cause 
of her emotion in the Pompeian tableau.” 

“ As to that,” said Sir Philip, “ upon the night 
of the ball I perceived her sentiments toward 
Volney.” 

“You did!” exclaimed Dorian Rossmore, 
quickly, “and you told me you had merely 
created the tableau of Glaucus and lone for your 
wife’s gratification ! I knew there was some 
hidden meaning to your ruse. I knew you wilfully 
designed to tyrannize over her ! ” 

Sir Philip shrugged his shoulders. 

“ ft was monstrous I I despise such duplicity!” 
averred Dorian, passionately. 

Sir Philip laughed deprecatingly, then seeing 
the angry fire that . flashed from her dark eyes 


HER STRATAGEM 


205 


upon him, he possessed himself of one of her 
resisting hands and, caressing it, said seriously : 

“ Dorian, I have told you that there has never 
been any harmony of sentiment between Lady 
Hortense and myself. She is so prosaic, so cold, 
so austere, that to see her unfossilized before me 
for an instant I resolved to use a little stratagem, 
I confess.” 

“ And you found the issue of your labor amus- 
ing ? ” asked Dorian with an undertone of 
cynicism creeping into her badinage. 

Sir Philip made some half-laughing rejoinder, 
after which they were both silent for a moment. 
Dorian was the first to speak again. 

What, then of this late-awakened passion of 
Lady Camden’s. Is it reciprocated ? ” 

“ No, it is reported that young Volney is in 
love with Alice Meredith, and will marry her. 
Lady Hortense’s pride is unimpeachable. She will 
not go into society this winter for fear of meeting 
Volney. This is a fatal decision with her, and 
one that will soon snap the frail bond of her life 
asunder.” 

As Sir Philip spoke, there came subtly floating 

into them Signor M ’s notes, blended with 

those of a familiar contralto voice. 

They were singing a measure from some 
Italian opera, and the strains now throbbing with 
passion, now wailing forth in melancholy suppli- 
cation, silenced them to listen. 


206 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Mrs. Rossmore, with her hand lying coldly in 
that of her companion’s, felt creeping over her a 
stronger aversion of him than she had ever yet 
known. She longed to flee from his presence for 
some undefinable reason, and when the song 
ceased and its cadence had died away, she 
suggested that they return to the parlors. 

“ Nonsense,” said Sir Philip, as he slipped one 
arm about her waist. “ We have not said one 
word about ourselves as yet. I have not even 
told you how happy you have made me by wear- 
ing my talisman ! ” 

As he spoke, he turned the hoop of diamonds 
about on her finger. 

“ Did you notice that I had abandoned all my 
rings to the preference of yours ? ” asked Dorian, 
suavely. 

“Yes,” whispered Sir Philip; then after lifting 
the hand to his lips and kissing it repeatedly, he 
added : “ You are kinder to me than I ever 
dreamed you would be, Dorian.” 

“ Ah, do not be so conceited, mon ami ! ” laughed 
Dorian, “ I wear it to the exclusion of all other 
ornaments because they look commonplace beside 
it. It is the cunningest type of art I have ever 
seen. Tell me I you certainly did not buy it in 
America ? ” 

“No,” Sir Philip answered shortly 

“Where then ? ” persisted Dorian. 

“ In Italy,” still laconically. 


BER STRATAGEM 


207 


Oh, what makes you so impervious ? ” she 
asked impatiently. “ One would think there was 
some dark mystery attached to the ring I ” 

Sir Philip coughed. 

“ Do you think the single emerald particularly 
symbolical ? ” he asked, pretending not to have 
heard her. 

Green is venom — the best authorities have 
granted that nothing of that color is without its 
poisonous ingredients,” insidiously replied Dorian. 

“Then let me exchange the stone for some 
other ; the emerald may prove disastrous to our 
love ! ” exclaimed Sir Philip with a sudden into- 
nation of anxiety in his voice. 

It was now Dorian’s turn to laugh. 

“ Nonsense I ” said she. “ Whatever sentiments 
exist between us cannot be influenced by a chip 
of precious stone, be it red or green, blue or white. 
Do not be superstitious, mon ami. There is noth- 
ing in omens ! ” she ended, deprecatingly. 

“ I wish to believe in nothing save my beautiful 
Peeress — my Idol ! ” whispered her companion, 
passionately lifting her hand to his lips. 

“ Do you forget the first commandment ? ” 
Dorian asked, crossing herself as she spoke like 
a saint. 

Her beauty and her mockery maddened him. 
Suddenly he threw himself upon his knees at her 
feet. 

“ I know no commandment, no God but thee. 


208 


THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE 


Dorian ! ” he cried. ‘‘ Thou art my sole religion ! 
Let me believe only in you and your love ; it is 
all I ask ! 

He could see that she was now laughing silently 
to herself, and he closed his eyes to shut out the 
sight of her beautiful, mocking image. Thus he 
did not see the expression of her face swiftly 
change from laughter to dire aversion. He did 
not see the wreathed lips, the glittering eyes, in 
which lurked subtile design and insidious hatred. 

“ Come, Monsieur, Sir Philip. Let us go back 
to my guests,” he heard her voice saying, at 
length, and rising, they quitted the close, per- 
fume-laden atmosphere without exchanging an- 
other word. 

As Dorian re-entered the brilliant drawing 
rooms a few moments later. Sir Philip hurried, 
without a word of farewell or apology, from her 
house out into the stormy night, every feeling 
within him dead save the strong new passion 
which he felt for Dorian Rossmore. As he walked 
fast and fiercely through the rain toward his club, 
he heeded not the wondering glances that were 
directed by passers-by at the extraordinary pic- 
ture he presented, with his pale, distorted face, 
and despoiled attire. 


CHAPTER XXV 


THE PRISONER 

* * Know ye not 
Who would be free, themselves must 
Strike the blow. 

—Byron, 

A nd monsieur, the prisoner ? 

When, after hours of unconsciousness, the 
Frenchman roused himself sufficiently to think, 
it was with overwhelming horror that he realized 
himself a prisoner, surrounded by a darkness 
whose intensity was that of a charnel house, and 
with nothing but the hard floor for his bed. 

Upon this he lashed himself, hissing volley after 
volley of curses upon the head of him whose 
Mepliistophelean art had so foiled and victimized 
him. 

This crazed paroxysm ceased, and he relapsed 
into a stupor, which was not so much of the body 
as the mind — a state of lethargy which, upon the 
fall of some great and unexpected calamity, is 
almost certain to attack one addicted to the use 
of strong drink or narcotics. 

When he returned again to consciousness it was 


noon. 


( 209 ) 


210 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Issuing from some unknown source, there came 
to bis hideous vault of darkness and despair, a 
current of pure air, which vitalizing draught 
seemed to inspire him with new hope. 

He sprang to his feet, and commenced groping 
his way about in the uncertain space, muttering to 
himself as he went : “ If there be a medium 
through which air can reach me, I shall not 
despair, for by the aid of air and opium I can 
live at least a fortnight. Meanwhile, oh Philip, 
envoy of Satan, who knows what means of escape 
from your villainy may be offered me ! 
Vhomme propose. Dieu dispose ! Why did 
you not search me and rob me of all means 
of self-defense ? my opium, my knife with 
cunning annex of file and gimlet ! — in these I 
may find a wonderful agency ! Ceil ! What is 
this ? he whispered, as suddenly his out-reach- 
ing hand came in contact with the partition wall, 
which was built of boards smooth-hewn from 
timber, hard and firm as stone. 

As he sounded this wall by tapping it forcibly 
with his knuckles, it gave back only short staccato 
echoes which seemed to mock and defy him. 

But Monsieur Favraud was not thus easily 
baffled. He moved on along the wall, making at 
every step that persistent rapping sound against 
the wood, and in this manner he had almost 
measured the length of the partition, when all at 


TEE PRISONER 


211 


once lie was answered by an echo, like the dying 
of a curfew knell. 

With hushed breath the Frenchman harkened 
to the sound, and when it had ceased, he said 
audibly : “I am in the tower of Maplehurst. The 
belfry is just above me ! ” 

That afternoon he commenced his work of 
cutting and filing into the wall’s difficult solidity, 
laboring for hours, until at length the gnawing 
pain of hunger triumphed over ambition, and he 
was compelled to surrender himself to the 
influence of the drug to which of late months he 
had come to be almost a slave, and with which 
he had well supplied himself only the day previ- 
ous to his imprisonment. Thus, with alternating 
strength and stupor, day succeeded day, until 
almost a week had passed — a week which had 
been to Monsieur Alphonse, one eternal night of 
horrors. 

Repeatedly had he searched vainly for that 
mysterious source through which, at intervals, 
the air reached him, without which he could not 
have lived. While each day his bodily strength 
declined from protracted starvation, the vital 
element of fresh air and the regularly administ- 
ered narcotic combined to support him in his 
labor ; and when under the influence of opium, 
he forgot all thoughts of food and drink, and only 
gave himself up to the pictures of freedom, which 
his inebriate fancy drew, and to the dilatory toil 


212 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICtzi 


of paving his way out of the infernal darknes 
which encompassed him. 

I forbear to enter minutely into details of his 
work — how he whittled away sliver after sliver 
of the pine wood, some of which were as fine as 
spun thread; how he tore, strained and blistered 
his hands until at last the rude rent in the 
wall penetrated through and enabled him to see 
into the adjoining passage, from whose sky-light 
the day-beams fell, making patches of red and 
blue and amber upon the floor. 

Oh ! who can conceive his infinite joy, when he 
knelt gazing through that small aperture, looking 
first upon the vivid patches of color, then upward 
toward the curb where hung the iron mouth- 
piece of Maplehurst with its silent tongue. 

And if his joy were so great, what then of his 
despair, when he awakened a few hours later to 
find his hands refused to grasp the knife for con- 
tinued labor ? They were paralyzed ! 

He cried out like a madman when the revel- 
ation of his helplessness burst upon him. 

The aperture before him admitted to his bed- 
lam a faint stream of light which revealed its 
utter barrenness. Nothing was there save 
cob-webs, where 

Half-starved spiders preyed on half-starved flies, 

and the old comforter which served as his only 
covering. Up to this he crept, sensitive for the 
first time during his imprisonment of the sharp 


THE PRISONER 


213 


winter’s cold ; and as he rolled himself shivering 
in its spareness, great sobs shook his defeated 
body. Only a moment ago and he was a very 
demon of defiance, with his every nerve and sinew 
strained in dire antagonism against the hand of 
Fate. Now he was an infant, writhing and whim- 
pering in his utter helplessness. And Destiny 
stood at that miserable little hole in the wall 
looking in upon his prey with his dread counte- 
nance distorted in triumphant laughter ! 

A black spider swung himself down on his fine 
rope and played upon one of the still and sense- 
less hands, and gluttonously sucked out the blood 
from one of its open wounds, leaving what little 
virulence its starved body retained in the oozing 
pores. Gradually the poison absorbed into the 
veins and pulsed up the vital part of the French- 
man’s arm. The sensation roused him from his 
stupefied condition, and in his horrible pain he 
started upright. He viewed the swollen member 
of his person, and instinctively knew to what 
was due the aching propensity. 

Should he die in the horrible agonies occasioned 
from a spider bite, or gain eternal oblivion through 
the agency of opium ? 

His every sense bespoke a preference for the 
easier death, and thus “ therein the patient min- 
istered to himself” ; but still, it must not be sup- 
posed that because he “ministered,” he needs 
must have died. The falcon eye of Fate still 
watched outside the prisoner’s den, and by his 
decree the remedy was not death, but antidote. 


CHAPTER XXVI 


A REVELATION 

Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose, 

Flushing her brow. 

^Keati. 

B ack from the vale of darkness and beckoning 
shadows the gentle spirit of Blanche Mere- 
dith slowly winged its flight ; and now instead of 
anxious, watchworn faces, those of the most radi- 
ant happiness hovered over the pillows where the 
invalid lay with answering love shining from her 
eyes. 

More than a week had passed since that crit- 
ical moment in which had come the verdict from 
Doctor Congrave’s lips, “ she will live ; and one 
morning as he departed from his daily visit to the 

brownstone house in W Square, it had been 

with a promise that his little patient should be 
carried to the drawing-room on the morrow, and 
be permitted to sit for an hour in a large easy 
chair in the window from where she could see the 
people passing from church. 

So the longed-for morrow came, and Blanche in 
a soft white woolen gown, and her bright hair 
freshly dressed, was ensconced, according to prom- 
( 214 ) 


A REVELATION 


215 


ise, in the deep window-place, with the red fire- 
light shedding a warm glow over the delicate 
transparency of her face and heightening the 
light in her soft and happy eyes. 

Alice had gone in company with her father to 
the neighboring church ; but beside the invalid 
sat Mrs. Meredith and little Olive, the latter en- 
gaged in blending together a knot of purple violets 
and shining leaves which she had brought from 
the conservatory especially for her invalid sister. 

“ Oh, mamma,’’ cried Blanche, rapturously in- 
haling the faint and delicious perfume as Olive 
pinned the nosegay upon her breast, and, kissing 
her, stole away, “ I never knew before what sweet- 
ness pervaded the odor .of violets ! I do not think 
I ever appreciated the blessing of breath to enjoy 
the gifts of nature as I do at this supreme 
moment ! ” 

Her pale face flushed and quivered with emo- 
tion as she spoke, and tears welled to her eyes of 
tender blue. 

Mrs. Meredith’s heart was too full for utterance. 
In silence she lifted one of her darling’s little blue- 
veined hands to her lips and kissed it fervently. 

Blanche returned the caress, then looked out 
upon the broad wind-swept thoroughfare, along 
which the carriages had begun to clatter with 
their warmly-furred passengers who had been to 
morning service at their respective places of 
worship. 


216 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


The sidewalks were scattered with pedestrians, 
some of whom carried little gilt-edged prayer 
books, and it was the faces of these which 
Blanche scanned eagerly, expecting each moment 
to recognize those of her father and Alice. 

She was filled with a happy childish longing to 
make some signal ere they reached the stone- 
flagged steps, by which they would be sure to 
look up and behold her sitting there ; and when 
at length they came in sight she cried out loudly 
as she tapped upon the pane : 

“ Papa ! Alice ! look up and see me 
They both heard her cry, and signalled to her 
with loving gestures. As the invalid replied to 
these a look of startled surprise crossed her 
features to abruptly check the smiles that played 
there. 

“Who is the strange young gentleman with 
them ?” the young girl asked, turning to her 
mother in a sort of panic. 

Mrs. Meredith, who also was looking out from 
her place of concealment behind the half-drawn 
curtains, replied : 

X “It is Mr. Volney, Valois Elwood’s English 
cousin, and the medium through whom you daily 
receive your flowers and books and bon-bons.’^ 
“His face is familiar to me,” said Blanche, 
meditatively. “Yet where ! have seen him I 
cannot recall. See how he looks at Allie, 


A REVELATION 


217 


mamma ! and do see how she is blushing !” 

Hereupon a grey head came suddenly between 
her face and the outward picture, while a fond 
voice said : 

“ Our little girl is getting on amazingly. How 
long has she been sitting up, mamma ? Doctor 
said only an hour, you know.” 

“ It has scarcely been half of that yet,” 
answered Blanche. “And I feel strong — oh^ 
quite strong enough to sit here for hours to come. 
Do let me, papa !” she entreated, clinging 
fondly to her parent. 

But Mr. Meredith shook his head sternly, and 
pursed his lips as one might in denying one’s 
babe some unconscionable request. 

Alice now came softly in the room, not so softly, 
however, but that Blanche heard, and turned 
with mischief-lurking eyes to rebuke her for 
lingering so long away. 

“Why did you not ask Mr. Volney in ?” she 
questioned, as her sister said she had only tarried 
long enough to take leave of a friend who had 
walked with them from the church. 

“He had an engagement to dine at two o’clock,” 
said Alice, “but is coming to-morrow to be 
introduced to you — Blanche, little sister; he is 
very nice,” she added in a low, fervid tone. 

Blanche smiled mischievously. 

“ And as handsome as he is nice and 
philanthropic!” exclaimed the invalid. “I mean 


318 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


to like him exceedingly and I shall have him 
read to me from some of the beautiful books he 
has sent me.” 

I know he will be happy to serve you. He 
reads — divinely. ’ ’ 

“ Used he to read to you at Ivendene when you 
were there ?” asked Blanche. 

“ Sometimes — to Valois and me.” 

After this the two girls sat for some moments 
without speaking. Mr. and Mrs. Meredith 
conversed apart from them in low tones, while 
Olive sat near the grate deeply engrossed in 
Bunyan’s Pilgrim’s Progress.” 

Blanche’s eyes were fixed thoughtfully upon 
her folded hands ; and as her sifter watched the 
long, down-bent lashes and the sweet pensive 
mouth, she wondered if ever a piece of Cyprian 
marble were chiselled into more classic beauty 
than the face before her. 

Presently Blanche looked up : 

‘‘I have been trying,” said she, “to remember 
where I have seen Mr. Volney before this 
morning. The moment I beheld his face I was 
struck with its familiarity.” 

“ It may have figured as an ideal in one of your 
dreams of romance,” suggested Alice playfully. 

“Surely,” conceded the other, “it is perfect 
enough for an ideal. During the week,” she went 
on, “I have heard Valois speak often of her En- 
glish cousin, and when, at different times you 


A REVELATION 


219 


told me the flowers and books came from Mr. 
Volney, I tried to picture him in my mind : I 
fancied a low, thick-set, well-dressed little fellow, 
with kindly blue eyes and rosy cheeks, and with 
hair and mustache of a tawny shade, inclined to 
curl. I imagined such a type of British aristo- 
cracy standing in the florist’s, and saying to the 
connoisseur, intent on wiring buds, ‘ Be suah to 
have them — ah — as fresh and sweet as possible, 
and — ah — put a sprig of maiden-hair at intervals 
about, doncher know.’ But suddenly Mr. Boun- 
tiful puts my conception to ridicule by appearing 
before me a veritable classic god ! ” 

All that afternoon Blanche was haunted by the 
pair of dark luminous eyes which she had seen 
gazing into her sister’s face, with an expression 
which her intuitive soul told her was engend- 
ered of something more than friendship. 

That night, as Alice entered her sister’s room 
just previous to retiring, she found Blanche lying 
quietly, with eyes closed as if in gentle slumber. 
She was about to retire without bestowing the 
good night kiss, lest it should awaken her ; but 
as she reached the door a voice said softly: “Allie 
dear, I am quite awake. I was only thinking 
with my eyes shut. Come here ; I want to ask 
you something.” 

She held out both arms, and when her sister 
bent over her, she clasped them tenderly about 
her neck, and whispered so low that her listener 


220 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


could scarce make out the words : “Mr. Volney 
loves you ! I am sure he loves you from the way 
in which he looked at you this morning.’^ 

Alice was silent. She did not look up lest the 
hot flush she felt suffusing her face should betray 
her. 

“ It must be beautiful,” went on the young girl, 
fondling, as she spoke, the bright shining hair 
that fell over her sister’s shoulders like a mantle, 
“ to lie aw^ake in the dark and have such a pair 
of eyes as his come before you, shining with such 
love as I saw in them this morning.” 

Her words were far-reaching, and Alice felt 
herself no longer able to evade them. 

“ It is beautiful — oh infinitely, religiously 
beautiful, little sister !” Blanche heard her whis- 
per ; then looking up, that she might speak more 
coherently, Alice told her story. She told how 
Fate had so mysteriously forecast her love to her 
on the night of Thayer Volney ’s advent to Iven- 
dene ; how, with the presentiment encompassing 
her like a dream, she had flown to the piano and 
sang “ My love is come,” but how afterward, when 
she had first looked into his eyes, she had felt an 
icy hand suddenly fall upon her heart, while a 
voice whispered to her, “ You are a bankrupt’s 
daughter ; he is a son to a baronet ; he is a noble- 
man ; and even though King Cophetua did love 
a beggar maid you must not let this thought stin - 
ulate your passion, but crush it while yet it has 


A EEFFLATIOiV 


221 


scarcely budded.’’ How she had striven to obey 
the warning voice, but had been overruled by an 
acknowledgment of love from Thayer’s lips that 
night at Maplehurst. Then she spoke of the 
blank which had followed when she had knelt at 
Blanche’s bedside and offered up all her hopes of 
future happiness if only God would spare her sis- 
ter’s life for the sacrifice, “ and now that my 
prayer has been answered,” she concluded, “I 
am reconciled to the thought of devoting the rest 
of my life to your happiness, and remembering 
my love only as a brief and beautiful dream.” 

Blanche had listened breathlessly, and when 
her sister ceased speaking, she cried, with eyes 
full of sympathetic tears-: 

“ No, no ! it is not for such a sacrifice on your 
part that God has spared my life. He is kind ; 
He knows your noble, unselfish heart, and would 
not ask of it such a cruel denial. I feel sure He 
will bless you both in your love ! ” 

Alice’s bosom heaved in a tumult of ecstacy at 
these words. 

She looked at her sister through swimming 
eyes, but could not speak for the deep emotion 
she felt. 

A few moments later she stole out, leaving 
Blanche fast asleep. 

The next day Mr. Volney was led into the 
drawing-room, where Blanche was again arranged 
in her easy chair in the window-place. 




/ 


222 


TEE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


He chatted brightly and with all the engaging 
grace of repartee which characterized him, but 
Blanche sat scarcely heeding his remarks, and, 
in her distraitness, appearing almost dull. Her 
mind was wandering through the confused vista 
of the past, striving to single out the day on 
which she had first seen Valois Elwood’s cousin. 
But the more she thought upon the subject, the 
more at sea she found herself, and in sheer vexa- 
tion of her defeat, when she was tucked away on 
her couch again, she turned her face to the wall 
and wept. 

Next morning, however, when Alice went as 
usual to her room, she found the invalid sitting 
up with a face as radiant as a summer’s dawn 
glow. 

“ Allie,” cried she, “ I have solved the problem! 
I know, now, where I first saw your King Cophe- 
tua ! ” 

Alice went and sat down by her with her eyes 
full of questions, but mute her lij)s. 

“ I dreamed out the enigma,” laughed Blanche, 

but before I explain, let me ask you a question. 
On w’hat day did you return from Ivendene, last 
fall ? ” 

After a moment’s reflection, Alice replied : “On 
Friday, the first of November.” 

“Well, on Friday, the first of November,^^ 
commenced Blanche, “early in the forenoon, I 
was standing at the library window looking out 


JL REVELATION 


223 


upon the street, when suddenly as I glanced 
over to the opposite pavement, my eyes gazed 
straight into those of Thayer Volney’s. He 
stood just opposite the house, contemplating it 
intently, but when he looked up and saw me, he 
seemed to be disconcerted and beat a hasty 
retreat down the avenue.” 

Alice looked at her sister with the lines about 
her mouth working nervously. She saw before 
her, as she had once seen the vision in a dream, 
a scroll upon which was written, in golden letters, 
the one word “ Mizpah.” It was held aloft by a 
visible hand ; while behind, through a cloud- 
vista, she saw a pair of wondrous eyes shining 
out like stars — the eyes of Thayer Volney. 

“ What are you thinking about ? ” asked 
Blanche. “ Do you divine why he was looking at 
our home with such interest ? ” 

Yes,” answered Alice, startled and shocked 
at the sudden relevation. “ He was the 
purchaser of it. Kobin St. Cloud is none other 
than Thayer Volney himself.” 

“ I know — I thought if I were to tell you what 
I suspected, you would not believe me ; but my 
dream made it all as plain to me as the truth of 
day,” Blanche said eagerly. 

Long thereafter, Alice sat staring vacantly 
before her, wondering how she could ever bring 
herself to look into Thayer Volney ’s eyes again. 
How could she ever render the debt of gratitude 


224 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


due such elaborate generosity as his had been ? 
He had come into her life just when it had been 
subject to a dread calamity, and had saved her 
•from it. Out of the depths of his divine sym- 
pathy had sprung the inspiration which had 
rescued her home from the grasp of the enemy, 
and her family from the bitterness of relinquish- 
ing that loved roof-tree. Ah, what a friendship 
had his proven, indeed I In this life of artifice, 
doubt and misery, where all is so cold and 
unsympathetic, such a friendship stands above all 
riches and arts ; it is a joy exalted above all 
powers of praise ; it is the sweetest of consolations 
next to heaven 1 


CHAPTER XXVII 


ENGAGED 

'Twere all one 

That I should love a bright particular star 
And think to wed it. 

— Shakespeare. 

To heirs unknown descends the unguarded store, 

Or wanders, heaven directed, to the poor. 

—Pope. 

I T was the twenty-third of December, and again, 
after continuous days of hovering, vaporous 
gloom, the earth lay glittering resplendent in a 
shroud of spotless white. 

Valois Elwood had been shopping all the after- 
noon, and when she returned home the hall lights 
were burning in the Florentine sconces. 

She looked exceedingly pretty in her sealskins, 
with the crisp, dark curls fringing her forehead 
under the jaunty turban, and her eyes and cheeks 
glowing with animation, which the sharp, blood- 
stirring air had lent. 

As she paused at the stand to examine some 
cards and letterc, her mother came out from the 
reception room and, kissing her with lingering 
fondness, commenced to remove her boa and 
mantle. This accomplished, she bestowed an- 
other fervent caress, then whispered ; 

( 226 ) 


226 


THE BRIDE OF JNFELICE 


“My dear, your father bade me send you to 
him immediately upon your return. He is await- 
ing you in the library.’’ 

“Is he alone ?” asked Valois with eyes sud- 
denly down-cast, and heart beating a wild tattoo. 

“Yes, he is quite alone,” said Mrs. Elwood ; 
whereupon there was a little impetuous cry of 
“ Oh, mamma ! ” then for an instant a pair of 
soft, warm arms clung tenaciously about Mrs. 
Elwood’s neck, and vanished Valois swiftly down 
the margin of dark red tapestries toward the 
apartment where her fate awaited her. 

Valois had never but once, to her recollection, 
seen her father in tears ; that was upon the death 
of an old army comrade^ but now, as she entered 
the library, he looked up, and she divined that 
he had been weeping. 

“ Come here, little girl,” he said gravely, and 
with an expression about the lips that bespoke an 
inner tumult. 

After an instant’s hesitation, Valois approached 
and stood before him flushed and embarrassed. 

He did not take the petite creature upon his 
knee as had been his wont to do since her baby- 
hood, but placing one arm about her waist he drew 
her close to him, and after a moment asked her 
that one of all questions in the catechism which is 
hardest to answer. 

“ Valois, my daughter, what is Love ? ” 

The young girl stood for a moment striving to 


ENGAGED 


227 


Bummon up words in which to couch an intelli- 
gent reply. i 

The effort was the most trying one of her life’s 
experience. Mr. El wood felt her tremble and saw 
her sweet lips grow pale as he waited for her 
answer which came at length. With enforced 
composure, she said : 

Love, papa, is an inspiration of the heart 
which when once awakened causes one to realize 
all that is most beautiful in existence and fills 
the soul with contentment and happiness unut- 
terable.” 

“Are you certain, my dear, that you have not 
memorized that pretty little definition from some 
novel ? Is it the analysis of your own heart ? ” 

“It is, papa,” answered Valois fervently. 

“Then,” said her father as he laid his hand 
reverently upon her head, “ let us concede that 
the world holds no holier, no sweeter sentiment, 
than reciprocal love — a spontaneous and equally 
measured degree of passion existing between two 
human souls, what is required to make that pas- 
sion enduring ? ” 

“ To render love perfect through life one must 
be true and devoted and tender and thoughtful ; 
every thing constant and abiding toward the 
object loved,” answered his daughter. 

“ Yes, yes I and, hem — you think that in your 
love for Lieutenant Carruthers and his love for 
you, all such qualities will exist ? ” 


228 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Yes, papa, I— we have become all the wcrld 
to each other — Gershon and 

There ensued a brief pause, after which Colonel 
El wood went on in the same serious tone. 

“ He has been here this afternoon — your 
Gershon ; and he has asked me for your hand in 
marriage,” he paused again and Valois waited 
with suspended breath for him to pursue. Oh, 
the dread uncertainty of his next words ! 

“ My daughter, it is hardly the future we had 
mapped out for you. Aside from Lieutenant 
Carruthers’ pay he has but three thousand 
dollars a year.” 

“ 1 know papa, but is — is not that a consider- 
able sum ?” asked the young girl. 

Colonel Elwood smiled and shook his head 
seriously. 

“ It would perhaps keep you in pin money, my 
dear,” he said, “ but would scarcely support an 
establishment such as would befit an Elwood.” 

Valois was certain that she detected a 
depreciation in his words which threatened 
annihilation to all her fondest dreams ; and 
involuntarily her arms tightened about his neck 
in mute appeal, 

“ But,” went on her father presently, ‘‘ your 
ma and I have been talking the matter over, and, 
seeing that the Lieutenant has a pedigree — that 
he is of good blood, a true gentleman and a 
soldier, we have concluded — hem ! — we have — 


ENGAGED 


2L9 


that is we have conceded to him as a future son- 
in-law. At the event of your union, I will settle 
upon you the estate of Ivendene, a good town- 
house and a decent allowance. There ! yes, of 
course, kiss me — now — now run away to your 
lover ; I think he is with your ma in the reception 
room.” 

The sun never shone upon a fairer day than 
that which ushered in Christmas-eve in the great 
New England metropolis. Counter-hurrying 
throngs, eagerly intent on holiday purchases, 
massed the narrow thoroughfares. Carriages 
flanked the curbs, and ill-clad, bare- footed urchins 
pressed their little frozen noses against the 
confectioner’s windows where were temptingly 
displayed bon-bons and cornucopias and old 
women in shoes, whose legion of children wore 
blue and red and yellow petticoats, all glimmer- 
ing with frost. 

It was from one of these bon-bon shops that 
Valois El wood had just stepped, and was about 
to enter her carriage when she was arrested by a 
voice of childish distress. Looking around she 
saw. a boy of about eight years crouching almost 
under the very feet of her horses. 

He was sobbing piteously, and grovelling in 
the dirty snow and slush which had been swept 
from the pavement. 

“ Get up from there, you blubbering vagabond ! 


230 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Get up if you don’t want to be run over,” said the 
coachman gruffly. 

“ Don’t speak to him like that, Forrest;” his 
young mistress rebuked him gently, “he is 
distressed over something that he has lost, 
evidently. What is it you have lost, poor little 
boy ?” she asked, as she bent low over the 
weeping child. He kept on plunging his blue 
and bleeding hands in the slush as, without 
looking up, he sobbed incoherently : 

“ My dime, my dime ! it wa — was all I 
ha — had, and it ro — rolled away ! I was 
go — owing to get a sug — a sugar doll for 
Mae — Mae — Maemie ; but it ro — o — o — oUed 
away, and I ca — can’t find it, mum !” 

As he finished speaking there shone from the 
face above him, deepest sympathy. Drawing a 
little hand from its warm nesting-place inside 
her muff, Valois opened her purse, and the lad, 
hearing the jingle of coin, looked up quickly. 
As he did so, she was almost startled by the 
unusual beauty of his face. His tearful eyes 
were of a deep dark blue ; and gazed out from 
their up-curled lashes with wonderful truth and 
intellectuality. His features, from the low brow 
to the dimpling chin, were as delicately chiselled 
as a girl’s ; and were framed in by thick black, 
curling locks which ended in a soft mass of 
ringlets on the little sun-browned neck, destitute 


ENGAGED 


231 


of muffler or any protection against the sharp 
December cold. 

Indeed, such a striking resemblance did he 
bear to Valois herself that, had he been dressed 
in accordance with the young girl’s rich attire 
he might easily have been taken for her brother. 
Perhaps this was why Valois felt herself so 
instinctively drawn toward him. 

After admiringly contemplating his upturned 
face for a moment, she held toward him a hand- 
ful of nickels and coppers, and was unable to 
repress a smile as she watched his features 
kindling with incredulous joy. 

^‘Take these,” said she. 

The boy sprang quickly to his feet ; but as 
she was about to drop the moneys into his out- 
reaching hand, he suddenly drew back, and 
gazing steadfastly at her with his honest eyes, he 
said : “ I’d rather not take the money, mum ; it 
looks likes as I’s a beggar. I ain’t no beggar, 
mum ; I sells papers, I does.” 

“ Do you make much by selling papers ? ” 
asked the young girl, interested more and more, and 
paying little heed to Forrest’s impatience to be off. 

“ I makes enough to keep mammy in tea and 
coal,” said the lad, proudly. 

Who is your mother ? ” 

“ Mrs. Kidder, a shoe-binder.” 

“ And your father ? ” 

“ Dead, mum.” 


232 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“Who is little Maemie, for whom you were 
going to buy a sugar doll ? ’’ 

“ She is my little sister ; she is crippled and 
ailing ; but, oh mum, she is so pretty ! her face 
is like the angel in her picture book.” 

“How old is little Maemie?” questioned 
Valois with tears in her eyes. 

“She’ll be seven, come New Year Day. I’m 
goin’ on nine.” 

“ Where do you live ? ” 

“At D Place ; number 14,” he answered. 

Valois carefully took down the address in her 
memorandum book, then she said : “ I am com- 
ing to see your mamma some day, now take this 
money — there is nearly a dollar in all — and go 
and get little Maemie her sugar doll and yourself 
some sweetmeats. Good-bye ! ” 

She turned suddenly back, “ but stay I you 
have not told me your first name ? ” said she. 

“ Key’s my name, mum. Roy Kidder,” 
answered the lad. 

“Well, good-bye, Roy Kidder I May you and 
Maemie spend a happy Christmas ! ” 

With these words she stepped into her carriage 
and the next moment was rapidly rolled away 
from the wondering lad, who stood watching her 
vehicle until it was lost among the hundreds on 
the thoroughfare. 

From the busy heart of the city, Valois was 
driven to W square. She was kept waiting 


ENGAGED 


233 


a long time in the drawing-room before Alice 
came down stairs ; and, being one of the most 
impatient of creatures, she flitted about, peeping 
into this book and that, reviewing the pictures 
in the photogravure, picking up and reading a 
stray card, which announced that “Robert 
Meredith, assayer of gold and silver quartz and 
all minerals, was established at lilumber — State 
street,’^ and lastly, drawing off her long gloves, 
she seated herself at the piano and executed in a 
very creditable manner, Newstedt’s pretty 
gavotte,, Marie Antoinette. 

She finished this, and was in the midst of one 
of Chopin’s tender nocturnes, when Alice stole 
in, and, crossing the room on tip-toe, stood behind 
her in smiling contemplation of the chubby hands 
which strayed so deftly over the kej^s. 

Presently she stooped over her and whispered : 
“Oh Valois, Valois ! what a tell-tale little hand!’’ 

Valois bounded to her feet, and the blush that 
dyed her face from throat to brow would have 
put a Jacqueminot rose to shame. 

“ It is so, Allie; ” she lisped softly. “ My hand 
has told you the story that I came to tell you 
with my lips. We are engaged. Gershon placed 
this here last night.” 

Alice took the soft and dimp''ed hand in hers 
and pretended to examine the glittering ring ; but 
tears were fast gathering in her eyes and she 
could not see it very plainly. 


234 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


‘‘It is very lovely/’ she said at length, “and I 
am happy to be among the first to congratulate 
you. Oh, my dear friend, all words seem com- 
monplace in such a contingency I and you know 
how very unclever I am at pretty sayings ; but I 
have always admired Gershon Carruthers above 
most men, and, having watched your little love 
affair since it first began to grow, I know it can 
be fruitful of nothing but the most perfect happi- 
ness.” 

She ended by kissing her favorite upon both 
cheeks ; then leading her to a sofa, they sat down 
together and Valois told the story of her engage- 
ment from the beginning. 

“I was so happy all night,” concluded she, 
“ that I could not sleep. I could only lie, with 
open eyes, staring into the dark trying to think 
of some way in which I might prove my gratitude 
for such a love as Gershon’s. This morning I 
found out some poor people and mean to send 
them a share of the good things for Christmas.” 

Valois kept her word. That night a box con- 
taining groceries and. clothing for Mrs. Kidder, 
Koy and little crippled Maemie found its way to 

D Place. Even a few toys for the children 

were not forgotten ; and on the following day Roy 
Kidder blew his bugle and beat his drum, w^hile 
little Maemie dressed her doll and set her tea- 
table, happy as any children of the “Hub’s” 
prosperity. 


ENGAGED 


235 


The two young girls were so engrossed as they 
sat there that neither of them heard the door-bell 
ring, and when suddenly they were interrupted 
by the announcement of “ Mr. Volney,’’ Valois 
started up with alacrity, and before Alice could 
say a word to stay her she vanished, just as her 
English cousin crossed the threshold of the draw- 
ing-room. 

For a moment he stood gazing at Alice who 
was standing in the center of the room swathed 
in a flood of sunlight which streamed in through 
the window. She strove vainly to bring her eyes 
to meet those dark, serious ones, but it was not 
until he approached, and of his own accord took 
both of her hands in his passionate clasp, that she 
looked up and spoke. 

“ Thayer,” she said simply, but the one word 
caused his face to light up as with a halo. 

Almost every day since Blanche’s convalescence 
he had called, but this was the first time the two 
had been alone together since they were at Maple- 
hurst ; and each heart meanwhile had become 
full volumes. For one all too brief hour they sat 
in the sunlit parlor talking in the low, confiding 
tones that lovers use ; and it was not until he 
held her hand at leave-taking that Thayer re- 
membered to inquire after Blanche. 

“ She is about the same,” Alice told him, with 
a cloud suddenly blurring the beatitude of her 
face. “It is strange,” she continued, “that she 


236 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


does not gather strength more rapidly. The least 
exertion seems to exhaust her.” 

“ She requires a change of scene and air,” said 
her lover. “We will take her to England with 
us in the spring. The ocean voyage will benefit 
her more than all medicine, while European travel 
and inspection of the Old World’s palaces of art 
and history will give her wonderful inspiration 
for future literary work.” 

Alice answered him not a word, but her heart 
cried out in ecstasy : 

“ My King Cophetua I My Robin St. Cloud 1 
My Happiness ! ” 

Then she clasped the hands that he had kissed 
so fervently before her, and watched him depart, 
through a mist of blinding tears. 


CHAPTER X X Vm 


“ THE BRIDE OP INFELICE ” 

* • I am "weary of my part, 

My torch is out ; and the world stands before me 
Like a blank desert at the approach of night. 

Words that Burn. 

Dryden. 

The incessant noise on the street below her 
window had grown unbearable to Lady Hortense 
Camden. In vain had Anine laved her aching 
brow with cologne, and pressed upon her a cup of 
tea, freshly drawn, which she simply tasted, and 
placed back upon the tray with an upward glance 
into the face of her anxious maid, which seemed 
to say, I would drink for your sake, dear An- 
ine, if I only could.'^ 

Of late, the French girl had come to dread the 
look in her mistress’ eyes. She had wept over 
that look in secret many times as she had turned 
from it. 

“ What has come over her young life to make 
her so silent and pale and sad ? Is it Monsieur’s 
coldness ? Is he cruel to her ?” she had often 
asked herself. 

For the past week Sir Philip had been in New 
York. 


( 237 ) 


238 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


One day after his departure Lady Hortense 
had been glancing over the Society Notes in one 
of the leading journals, and not far below the 
paragraph that related to Sir Philip’s sojourn in 
the Eastern metropolis, there was one conveying 
the intelligence that Mrs. Dorian Rossmore, “ the 
charming widow,” was temporarily absent from 
town. “ She has run up to her beautiful country 
estate in New Hampshire,” said the report. But 
Lady Hortense’s lips curled themselves in infin- 
ite scorn and loathing as she read it, and her 
divining heart knew the truth. 

Day by day the burden of life was growing 
heavier, and more surely was crushing her be- 
neath its weight ; and as she sat by the window 
early on Christmas afternoon, with Anine minis- 
tering to her, as I have said, she was very weary 
and heart-oppressed, and during one moment of 
her nervous melancholy she would cry out irrita- 
bly at the noise of cabs and street cars, the cries 
and shrieks of small boys and the hideous din of 
their fifes and trumpets and drums ; but the next 
she would atone her selfishness, remembering that 
it was Christmas, and the time for reveling. Was 
not she once always happy at Christmas tide ? 
Ah, ineffably so I and that ‘‘once,” though it 
seemed an age, was only one year agone. 

Only one year ! 

Could it be but a single year since she had 
looked into her mother’s face and thanked her, 


“ THE BRIDE OF JNFELICE 


239 


with a flush of girlish pride upon her brow, for 
the set of exquisite diamonds which she gave her 
as a bridal present — gems which had descended 
from the Chatbournes and had once adorned the 
beauty of her great-grandmother ? 

True, that was just twelve months ago ; and in 
the interval it seemed to her that she had lived 
longer than the whole eighteen years which lay 
beyond the vista that separated her from her 
happy, untrammeled maidenhood. 

“ Oh mamma I mamma ! ” her hot and restive 
heart cried out, “ Why could you not have fore- 
seen my misery ? What was your mother-love 
that you had no instinctive prescience of what 
was to follow in the train of my enforced wedlock ? 
What is your mother-heart ? Is it impervious 
marble, that you do not come and condole with 
me now ? That you do not see how your am- 
bition has cursed me and I am dying ?” 

There came no answer to her bitter and right- 
eously accusing cry. 

Even at that very moment, as Lady Hortense 
sat alone in her rooms looking out, broken- 
hearted, on the day’s cold, bleak atmosphere, with 
her pent-up anguish stifling, strangling, kill- 
ing her, Mrs. Ayers was at a fashionable modiste’s, 
trying on the lace and ribbon-befangled robe, 
which she was to wear at a great society ball that 
night. 


240 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


She was vaguely cognizant that it was her duty 
to run up to her daughter’s apartments, after the 
draperies were properly adjusted, to leave her 
Christmas greetings and inquire of her health 
but not once was she hurt by a passing pang of 
self-contrition for having been the medium of all 
the hopeless misery of the only offspring of her 
own flesh and blood. No compunctious visitings 
were her’s. She only felt bitter disappointment, 
vexation, chagrin, at what she was wont to term 
Hortense’s* stony obduracy, her invincible self- 
will, and determination not to be happy as Sir 
Philip Camden’s wife. “She is ungrateful and 
she ought to suffer,” the lady was accustomed to 
remark when dwelling upon this very disagreea- 
ble subject. 

Anine had gone to take the tray and things 
back to the kitchen, and Lady Hortense took 
advantage of her absence and lifted the window 
to admit a breath of the fresh cold air. She 
smiled down upon the happy children who 
thronged the pavement below, and those who saw 
here were haunted all day by her pale, sad face 
and wistful eyes. 

Anine entered the room just as her mistress 
was about to close the window again, and hurried 
forward to shut the heavy sash herself. 

As she did so there was gentle reproof in her 
eyes which seemed to say : 


“ THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


241 


“You know, miladi, the doctor warned you 
against exposure to the cold air.” 

Interpreting the look, Lady Hortense said as if 
in self-defense, “ I only looked out for an instant, 
Anine, I longed for one fresh, free breath of air, I 
have been shut up in these rooms for over a 
fortnight, you know.” 

As she spoke the footman entered the room 
bearing a little silver tray upon which was a card. 

As Lady Hortense traced the name upon this, 
a ghastly hue crept to her lips, and something 
like a gasp escaped them. 

She, however, collected herself immediately, 
and said to the servant : “ Say to the gentleman 
that I will be down immediately.” 

As she entered the drawing-room a few 
moments later, the window-hangings were closely 
drawn, and her visitor could not distinctly see 
her face as he stepped forward to greet her, but 
he noticed that the little hand she gave him was 
cold as an icicle, and that it trembled in his 
clasp, sending that strange thrill through his 
being which he had experienced on the night 
of the charades at Maplehurst. 

“I trust you are feeling better to-day, Lady 
Camden,’ ’ he said, in his low, grave voice. 

She, evading his remark, motioned to a chair, 
and when they were both seated she asked after 
Valois and his aunt who had not been to see her 
for several days. 


242 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


He replied that they were both well. “ It is in 
behalf of them that I have called upon you so 
unceremoniously,” he explained. “ They have 
commissioned me to bring you to spend the 
afternoon and dine with us this evening.” 

Lady Hortense hesitated a moment, then said : 

“ Mr. Volney, it would give me infinite pleasure, 
but I have not left my apartments for two 
weeks.” 

I have brought an abundance of rugs, and the 
carriage is free from draughts,” argued the young 
Englishman. “ This,” he added persuasively, 
‘‘ is to be a quiet little home atfair. My aunt 
has only asked Lieutenant Carruthers and Miss 
Meredith, besides yourself.” 

Oh, in that event,” returned Lady Camden, 
with an effort at pleasantry, “I should only be 
de tropJ^ 

He lifted his hand with a deprecating gesture, 
but not heeding this, Lady Hortense continued ; 

“ I have just heard of Valois’ engagement, and 
must commission you with my warmest con- 
gratulations to my little friend and her fiancS. I 
think it an admirable match. They seem so 
fitted for each other.” 

“Yes, admirable; satisfactory in every sense 
of the word,” conceded Volney in a pre-occupied 
tone, then after a little hesitation he lifted his 
eyes from the carpet and regarded her with them, 
as though wishing her to see there the elation and 


“ THE BRIDE OF IN FELICE" 243 

happiness which they reflected from his soul. 
She saw their expression of exhilaration, and drew 
a sharp, quick breath. Her heart throbbed with 
a wild pulsation, there was a loud buzzing sound 
in her head, and all seemed dark before her, yet 
above it all his voice came to her faintly. He 
was saying : . 

“ I hope, Lady Camden, you will share your 
kindly wishes with me. I believe myself to be 
the most fortunate and the happiest man living 
this Christmas day. I have won the hand of 
Alice Meredith in betrothal.” 

He had risen, as he spoke, as if in very defer- 
ence of the beloved name, and Lady Hortense, 
vaguely conscious of his movement, also com- 
pelled herself to her feet. 

I have said that the room was too dark for him 
to see her face plainly, but the convulsion was 
over and her voice sounded passive and calm as 
before, as she said: “In winning the love and 
confidence of such a woman as Alice Meredith, 
you are indeed blessed above the generality of 
men, Mr. Volney ; but I think — I know you 
fully merit your good fortune, and I congratulate 
you with all my heart and soul ! ” 

She gave him her cold, lifeless hand as she 
spoke, and he raised it reverently to his lips. 

A few minutes later he had left the hotel, and 
Lady Camden again sat at the window in her 
boudoir with her maid beside her. 


244 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


** Anine/’ said she, suddenly turning to the girl 
who was occupied with some needlework. “I 
crave so for the quiet of Maplehurst. The con- 
stant rattle on these streets at times almost 
maddens me. My nerves crave for repose.” 

“ I know, miladi,” said Anine, laying aside her 
work, “ and I have often wished that we had not 
come to town at all. I think you would have 
been better, had you remained at Maplehurst.” 

At her words. Lady Hortense turned and laid 
her head upon the girl’s shoulder, where for a 
moment she wept in silence. 

“ Oh Anine,” presently she sobbed, “ if I only 
could spend this Christmas night at home ! Take 
me to Maplehurst for just this one night ! I will 
wrap up warmly, and we can hire a sleigh to 
take us over from L .” 

Who could resist that suppliant voice, and the 
attitude of childish abandonment and confidence? 
Surely not Anine, whose every thought and wish 
was for the happiness of her mistress. However, 
the girl made one frail effort to dissuade her. 

“But miladi, you are so unfit for travel, and if 
anything should happen, I alone would be 
blamed.” 

“What could happen ? ” asked Lady Hortense 
quickly, lifting her wet face. “ We would 
simply have a ride first on the train, then in a 
close, warm sleigh. Oh, to think of sleeping once 
more in the Louis Quinze bedroom, with peace 


THE BRIDE OF. IN FELICE’ * 


245 


and quiet around me, makes me almost happy ! 
Come ! if we hasten we shall be able to catch the 
three o’clock train out.” 

“ But Monsieur, Sir Philip has all the keys to 
Maplehurst. We cannot get in.” 

Lady Hortense laughed ; then rising, she 
crossed the room to a little ebony stand, upon 
which stood a small box of Italian mosaic. 

She lifted the lid of this and took from thence 
a large brass key. This she held up triumph- 
antly, saying, as she did so: You are mistaken, 
my good Anine, Sir Philip has not all the keys. 
This belongs to the front door. I purloined it 
from the ring before Sir Philip went away, think- 
ing I might have cause to use it. Come, now, 
let us lose no time.” 

And seeing that it were useless to protest, Anine 
rose and set about preparing for their departure. 
They had but to pack a small portmanteau, and 
partake of tea, which beverage Lady Hortense 
now drank thirstily, even taking a second cup ; 
for this new ambition had suddenly restored her 
to artificial health. 

It was a great stimulant, and as she adjusted 
her shawls and sables, there was a glow on her 
cheek and a heightened brightness in her eye 
which made her look like the beautiful Hortense 
of old. 

Everything was in readiness and they were just 
on the point of quitting thier apartments when 


246 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


suddenly and unannounced, Mrs. Ayers burst in 
upon them. 

“ Why ! my dear Hortense, where are you 
going ? ” asked that dowager breathlessly, and in 
wide amazement, as she glanced from the muffled 
form of her daughter to the traveling bag, and 
then at A nine. 

“ I am going to Maplehurst, and — and mamma, 
dear, you really must forgive me for running away 
and leaving you, but we must get this train. By 
any other we should reach Maplehurst after 
dark.” 

Mrs. Ayers pursed her thin lips and drew her- 
self up to her colossal height. 

‘‘Well, I never ! ” exclaimed she, for once for- 
getting her dignity and speaking in a shrill voice. 
“You can ride all the distance to Maplehurst 
through the snow, yet you are too ill to attend 
the Arundel ball with me to-night ? Such incon- 
sistency amounts to madness ! ” 

“ Oh, well, mamma dear, I really have not time 
for argument, only kiss me good-bye, won’t you? ” 

The plethoric lady in broadcloth and sealskins 
stood like a monument of stone, and poor Hor- 
tense was compelled to print her kiss upon a pair 
of cold, unresponsive lips. 

Oh, had that mother foreseen the morrow and 
the awful form that stood in the nearing vista, 
beckoning, beckoning, to the “ Bride of Infelice I ” 
But no prescience of the close-impending doom 


“ THE BRIDE OF INEELICE 


247 


came to her. She stood gazing after her daugh- 
ter with the same immobile features, and when 
Lady Hortense and her maid had quite disap- 
peared, she entered her carriage and was driven 
homeward, where the hairdresser was impatiently 
awaiting to arrange her coiffure for the ball. 


CHAPTER XXIX 


THE DIAMOND BRACELET 

O Reason! who shall say what spells renew, 

When least we look for it, thy broken clew! 

Through what small vistas o’er the darkened brain 
Thy intellectual day-beams hurst again; 

And how, like forts, to which heleaguerers win 
Unhoped-for entrance through some friend within, 

One clear idea awakened in the breast 
By Mem’ry's magic lets in all the rest. 

—Moore's “ Lalla Rookh." 

The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes 
And gaping mouth that testified surprise. 

— Dryden. 

D uring sir Philip’s sojourn in New York he 
was registered at a Broadway hotel, but 
frequently was to be seen lounging in the read- 
ing-room or about the foyer of a fashionable 
rendezvous in Fifth Avenue, upon the second floor 
of which establishment a certain young and beau- 
tiful Creole lady had apartments. 

Her name was whispered by wiseacres about 
the hotel as “ Madame de Joules.” 

During her sojourn in New York Madame de 
Joules had attracted considerable attention at the 
opera where she had occupied a proscenium box 
almost every evening, and was conspicuous be- 
cause of the rare elegance of her toilets as well as 
the great beauty of her face. 

(248) 


THE DIAMOND BRACELET 


249 


Popular society men, after seeing her at the 
play, would seek out and introduce themselves to 
Sir Philip Camden, who invariably attended 
Madame, and through whom they fondly hoped 
to be presented to her. But Sir Philip, divining 
the bent of their compliments, only laughed at 
them in his sleeve, as it were, and dismissed them, 
each in their turn, with punctilious politeness. 

“ Madame de Joules is a recluse,’’ he remarked 
in one instance to an eager suppliant who had 
been less politic than his fellows, and boldly de- 
clared his wish to be introduced to the beautiful 
stranger. “She is a foreigner, and withal averse 
to American society.” 

On Christmas night the couple had dined at 
Delmonico’s, and as they were quitting the res- 
taurant they came abruptly face to face with Mr. 
Fred Bentwell of Boston in whose company was 
the identical distinguS who had importuned Sir 
Philip to present him to Madame de Joules on 
the night previous. 

The couples passed without exchanging any 
words of recognition, but the eyes of Sir Philip’s 
companion, and those of Fred Bentwell had met 
for an instant, whereupon the woman’s face 
flushed scarlet, then turned to a deathly paleness, 
while her fingers closed tenaciously over Sir^ 
Philip’s stalwart arm. 

He felt her tremble violently, as they walked 
on. Presently she spoke, and her naturally soft, 


250 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


musical voice now sounded harsh with suppressed 
rage and mortification: 

“Why did you bring me out by the public 
way ? You might have known it was hazardous.” 

“ Why, Dorian, more hazardous than for us to 
sit together in the opera box ? ” Sir Philip asked 
liumbly — he was always humble before this 
creature whom he worshiped as an idol. 

“ It IS no comparison,” Dorian Rossmore 
answered sharply. “ Every one goes with one’s 
friend to the theater ; but to be seen together 
coming out of a restaurant and by him of all 
persons ! ” 

Sir Philip drew a sharp, quick breath, 

“ Good God ! ” he exclaimed hoarsely, “ do 
you then care for Bentwell above all others, 
Dorian ? ” 

She evaded his question. 

“ I have the pride of my mother, who was a 
Spaniard. I loathe esclandre ! she panted. 

“If Bentwell is a gentleman of honor he will, 
as an admirer of yours, guard your reputation,” 
hazarded her companion. 

“Ah, bah!” exclaimed Dorian, contemptu- 
ously. “ Could not you see he was intoxicated ? 
In such a condition a man’s tongue is a free 
agent. By to-morrow morning every man that 
haunts the foyer of my hotel, will have heard the 
denouement. Fred was with one of them.” 

After this a silence fell between the two, which 


THE DIAMOND BRACELET 


251 


lasted until Dorian’s apartments were reached. 

Here, after Sir Phillip had turned up the lights 
of the chandelier, he approached her and said, in 
the wheedling tone he was wont to adopt when 
with her : “ Dorian, darling, do not let us quarrel 
on this of all nights.” 

The endearing term so familiarly used, brought 
something like a sneer to her red lips. She 
regarded him calmly, and with her splendid eyes 
transfused with a hauteur so coldly severe that 
it made him writhe inwardly. 

“ I have nothing more to say,” she returned at 
length. I simply think you insufferably stupid.” 

“Call me stupid — anything,” said her lover, 
passionately, lifting one of her hands to his lips, 
“ only,” he added, 

“ Make but my name thy love and love that still.” 

Dorian Rossmore did not look up. She could 
not trust her eyes to meet his at that moment, 
lest he should see in them some of the revulsion 
that suddenly had taken possession of her soul. 

Before her vision there was a picture that 
would not be banished — a dissipated face, with 
blood-shot, accusing eyes ; within her was a 
dawning conception of guilt, engendered by their 
gaze. They seemed to say: “ It was you, Dorian 
Rossmore, who started me on my downward 
path. Upon your account, therefore, shall all 
my sins be visited in the end.” And gradually, 
as she stood lost in reflections of the past, there 


252 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


came into her eyes an expression of tenderness 
and subtle pity. 

She recalled the legion of times that Fred 
Bentwell had whispered to her passionately of 
his love — a love which he had said was the purest 
and holiest part of him. All at once came burst- 
ing upon her the knowledge that that love had 
been the sweetest thing her life had ever known. 

“ Oh, why did I not discern this in time to 
save myself and him ? ” she asked herself 
contritely. 

“ Is it too late for retraction ? In ambition I 
have been wicked ; but in action — never — unless 
it was in marrying the man who took me from 
a con vent and so generously provided for me, and 
whose money was the only part of him that I 
loved. Unless it was in coming to New York b}^ 
special appointment with Sir Philip, whom I 
have always hated. But this was all mere strat- 
agem, and does not touch upon my virtue. I am 
only shrewder than most women; that is all.’’ 

“ You do not answer me Dorian !” said Sir 
Philip at length, stung and writhing under her 
austerity and her silence. 

Dorian started. She had been so lost in 
meditation that she had almost forgotten his 
presence. 

“ No — to be sure,” said she, scarcely conscious 
of her own words. Then in the same absent 
manner she commenced to divest herself of 


THE DIAMOND BRACELET 


253 


gloves and wrap. This done, she threw herself 
upon a divan, and there reclined like Cleopatra 
after her dream. 

He went and knelt beside her, and again 
possessed himself of one of her jewelled hands — 
that upon which flashed the talisman he had 
placed there a little over a month ago. 

My love, my love I” he cried, “ for the love of 
God do not treat me like this ! I can bear any- 
thing, Dorian, but your contempt !” 

She lifted her eyes now and met his straightway. 

“ Sir Philip,’V she said, “pray leave me for a 
little time. When you return I shall — I hope^ — 
be more agreeable.” 

For one moment he gazed at her in silence, 
then he rose and quitted the room, merely 
pausing, as he reached the door, to cast a 
backward glance toward her. But she did not 
see his look of mute entreaty. She lay quite 
still, with her face buried in the scented 
cushions, waiting impatiently for the door to 
close him from her presence. 

The signal came, and then she heard his steps 
falling sluggishly along the corridor. When 
these had quite died away she rose hastily, and 
crossing the room to her writing desk, proceeded 
to pen just three hasty lines to Fred Bentwell, 
which she sealed and addressed to the hotel at 
which he always stopped when in New York. 
They ran thus : 


t 

254 THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 

I return to Boston by first train to-morrow. Come 
back to me, Freddy, and let me tell you how sincerely 
penitent I am for the cruel manner in which I have 
treated you. Your Own Dorian." 

“Deliver this immediately,” she said to the 
boy who responded to her bell. And as she 
dropped a coin into his ready palm, she knew by 
the sparkle of his eyes that he would serve her as 
bidden. 

“Now,” soliloquised Dorian, as she turned 
back into her apartments after dismissing the 
messenger, “ must I ‘screw my courage to the 
sticking-place ’ and tell Sir Philip that all record 
of our intimacy must be wiped from the tablets of 
his heart. Foiled — utterly foiled has been my 
purpose 111 pursuing him here, ineffectual have 
proven all my sophistries to establish him the 
villain of my suspicions. That he is a villain, 
that he husbands a past career in which is 
written the dark history of this talisman upon 
my finger, that he did not buy it with honest 
means I feel certain — certain as though the 
sepulchre of my dead sister had opened its 
marble jaws and she had walked forth to tell me 
so. He tells me he has never lived in Paris — a 
few days subsequently we were talking of the 
burning of great buildings, when suddenly for- 
getting himself, he says, ‘ But the burning of the 

Theatre in Paris, in 18 — , was the greatest 

fire I I never saw such a panic in my life.’ 
‘ You were in Paris at that time V I ask, hoping 


THE DIAMOND BRACELET 


25j 


he will not detect the swift hot glow I feel on ni}' 
face. ‘Merely for a day or so,’ he answers 
guardedly. And so it has happened repeatedly, 
that just at the instant I find myself on the brink 
of a revelation, my eyes are suddenly blind- 
folded and the shape that began to define itself 
before me sinks back into the abysmal darkness, 
and I am left shivering in dire defeat. Is it 
right, is it just, O Providence, answer me ! that 
the thorns of suspicion should so pierce and 
sting me, while you sit, able to relieve me of my 
suffering, and yet refuse to allieviate — nay, that 
you seem to mock me with repeated disappoint- 
ments that are agonizing ?” For a moment tears 
dimmed her splendid e3’es ; the next, they shone 
out with a resolute fire, and her fingers were 
quite steady as they removed the blazing 
talisman from her hand, and placed it upon the 
cabinet. 

At that moment there came a gentle rap upon 
the door. 

“ Entrez ! ” she called out faintly. 

What a picture she presented, standing there 
in her shining velvet robes, encompassed with 
the radiance which streamed from the chandelier, 
and with the golden tapestries forming a rich and 
harmonious background for her beautiful image. 
How enchanting ! how superb ! how divinely" 
beautiful I 

Her “ JE'n^rez,” as it reached^ the ear of Sir 


256 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Philip, thrilled him with renewed hope, for it 
seemed to chime out with the cadence of true 
welcome. 

He crossed the threshold with a countenance 
almost transfigured in its love-light ; and, misin- 
terpreting the smile upon her lips, he bounded 
forward with the joyful cry of “ Dorian I My 
love I” 

She suffered him in silence fo take her hand, 
knowing he would at once note the absence of his 
ring. 

This he did, and dropped the member quickly, 
as though it had stung him. 

“ Sorceress he almost hissed, as taking a back- 
ward step, he measured her from head to foot 
with the green fury of his eyes. 

She stood regal as a queen under this scorch- 
ing scrutiny, and the smile upon her face deep- 
ened until dimples played there. 

“ Pray, mon ar?w,” said she, with a little be- 
witching poise of the head, “ do not look at me as 
though you would delight in strangling me. Re- 
member woman’s frailty I I am no exception to 
the rule, and caprice is a game which we all 
play at sometimes, you know.” 

He muttered a stifled curse ; then turning 
swiftly, he paced the room back and forth, snap- 
ping his fingers in the very excess of fury. 

Meanwhile Dorian threw herself upon the low 


THE DIAMOND BRACELET 


257 


divan, and half reclining there, toyed with the 
silken fringe of the cushions. 

Sir Philip at length ceased his mad parade, 
and went and stood before her. 

She looked up and met his green, glaring eyes 
unflinchingly, and with a faint smile of amuse- 
ment still lingering about her lips. 

“ You have been flitting entirely too near the 
flame, Mrs. Moth, and if you examine your wings 
closely you will find them scorched. A — you 
have carried your coquetry quite too far for re- 
traction, don’t you thinkj” he said with the 
same indolent drawl that he was in the habit of 
using when talking to Lady Hortense, and with 
dire significance in his words. 

She hesitated a moment, and then said : 

It is never too late. Monsieur Philip, to make 
an effort at amendment.” 

He laughed his noiseless, Satanic kind of a 
laugh — that laugh which Lady Hortense could 
never hear without feeling her blood run cold. 

^‘The sight of that milk-sop, Bentwell, has 
played the devil with you ! ” he exclaimed. “You 
would let a man with an income that would not 
keep you in gloves, come between you and such 
a future as I have opened out before you ! View 
yourself at Maplehurst with wealth on every 
hand, with liveried servants coming at your bid ; 
with the gentry of the populace bowing before 
you, and calling you ‘ Lady Dorian,^ or ‘ Lady 


258 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Camden/ View yourself presiding over my royal 
entertainments. View yourself sealing your let- 
ters with the Camden coat of arms, or riding in 
your carriage emblazoned with the same distin- 
guished sign. And now let this picture come to 
blot out the liveried servants, the Lady Dorian, 
the royal entertainments, the letters with their 
imposing seal, and the emblazoned carriage. 
See yourself reclining in a faded drawing- 
room 

“ Stop, Sir Philip, let me draw the picture ! ” 
Dorian suddenly interrupted him peremptorily, 
and without looking up from the fringes which 
she still toyed with absently, she went on with 
implacable calm : 

‘‘ See me reclining in a modest — not a faded — 
drawing-room. I would never have anything dull 
or spoiled about me. See my husband sitting at 
my feet, gazing up into my face with gentle de- 
voted eyes, whose love-light speaks to my inner- 
most soul and makes it respond. See his hand 
clasp mine. Hear his voice calling me by the 
old favorite name — ‘ Doria !’ Now let this pic- 
ture stay before me, Sir Philip. It cannot be 
counter-crossed ! If I marry Fred Bentwell I 
have ample for us both. My late husband did 
not leave me dowerless.” 

She paused and raised her resolute face to his. 
As she did so she noticed that Sir Philip held in 
his hand a small jewel case. He had suddenly 


THE DIAMOND BRACELET 


259 


bethought him of the Christmas gift which all 
day he had carried in his pocket, awaiting a fav- 
orable opportunity to present it to his enchant- 
ress. He saw her eyes rivet themselves with 
momentary curiosity upon the case, then avert 
themselves indifferently. 

‘ ‘ I had brought you such an exquisite Christ- 
mas present, Dorian,’’ said the suave voice of 
the tempter. “It is one that I bought when 
abroad last winter. I had intended it as a gift to 
my present wife. But during the past month I 
have been looking forward to this night when I 
would clasp it upon the arm of the only true love 
of my life — Dorian ! ” 

She waved her hand with a gesture of keen 
annoyance as he dared, even yet, to offer her the 
jewel. 

“ At least, look at it. The sight will in no wise 
contaminate you. I assure you it is a marvelous 
piece of workmanship.” As he spoke he slowly 
lifted the lid of the case, and now he held before 
her its secret — a bracelet of diamonds. 

The stones were set at close but irregular inter- 
vals upo-n a foundation of Etruscan gold ; and 
the most critical observer would likely have failed 
to notice that they composed a series of letters. 

How was it then that after the most casual 
glance Dorian Kossmore noticed the characters and 
shrieked out like one suddenly stricken mad as 
she sprang to her feet and clutched at the bauble? 


260 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“ Mon Dieu I Give it me I she cried. That 
sudden and frenzied shriek rendered Sir Philip 
spell-bound. 

Without a word he yielded to her the bracelet, 
staggering backward as he did so, as though he 
had been smitten a mighty blow, his eyes meeting 
her staring, horrified ones, with an expression 
that was no less wild and startled. 

“ For the love of God, Dorian, do not look at 
me like that I ” he composed himself at length 
sufficiently to say. 

“ Where did you get this bracelet panted the 
woman, holding the glittering diamonds up be- 
tween their gaze. 

“ I have said that I bought it while I was abroad 
last winter,” he answered her quietly and lacon- 
ically. 

“But where? Where? TFTiere? Isay!” screamed 
Dorian Rossmore in wildest frenzy. 

“ At Florence,” he answered still with dogged 
brevity. 

“ But at what jeweler’s? Tell me at what jew- 
eler’s? This is my murdered sister’s bracelet ! 
See I Read the name formed of these stones ! ” 

He advanced and bent over her as, with trem- 
bling fingers, she traced out the letters which he 
had never before noticed : “JULIE D’ARCY.” 

“ Julie d’Arcy ! ” gasped the man ; then swiftly 
collecting himself, he met her eyes and exclaimed 
again : 


THE DIAMOND BRACELET 


2C1 


“ Oh, Dorian, for the love of God do not look 
at me like that ! ” 

Her eyes were becoming fixed and stony in 
their gaze. She swayed helplessly to and fro. 
Another moment and she had fallen backward on 
the divan, where she lay in a death-like swoon, 
with the diamond bracelet clutched tightly in her 
hand. 


CHAPTER XXX 


THE DENOUEMENT 


Dire combustions and confused events 
New-batched to the woeful time. 


■Macbeth. 


HE emergency was a startling one even to Sir 



1 Philip Camden who stood for some moments 
striving to collect his errant senses. At length 
he resolved, like one accustomed to philosophize 
from a hazardous standpoint, that it would be far 
the wisest plan not to summon assistance to the 
unconscious Dorian, so he himself set about with 
assiduity to restore her. 

Luckily, he found upon the lady’s dressing- 
table a bottle of Cologne, which liquid he gener- 
ously applied to her brow and lips, even forcing 
a few drops between the set teeth. 

But while thus busily engaged were his thoughts 
and anxieties entirely of Dorian ? If so, why did 
his narrow, evil eyes wander so often from her 
white features to the hand in which she still held 
in a vice-like clasp the diamond bracelet ? 

Once he made a movement as though he would, 
by main force, have torn the jewel from its shield, 
but just at that instant Mrs. Rossmore betokened 
signs. of returning consciousness, and all that 


( 262 ) 


THE DENOUEMENT 


263 


shone in her attendant’s face, when presently she 
opened her eyes, was the most lover-like solici- 
tude. 

My poor Dorian ! ” he whispered, and his 
voice was soft and cooing as a wood-dove’s, and 
bespoke naught of the agitation lying latent 
under his breath ; but the woman felt that breath 
upon her face hot as if fanned from a burning 
furnace. 

At his words, she started into a sitting posture 
and thrust him from her fiercely. 

“ Ceil ! ” cried she, shuddering and covering 
her face with both hands. “ What is here ? What 
is this horrible revelation f ” 

Dorian, try and calm yourself to tell me 
something of the dark story with which these 
diamonds seem to be so mysteriously connected,” 
said Sir Philip, and he dared to lay his hand 
upon her’s as he spoke, but she shook ofi* the 
member with another repulsive shudder. 

“ Don’t touch me ! ” cried she, uncovering her 
face and flashing her creole eyes upon him, like 
an envenomed reptile, when about to spring upon 
its victim. “ Do not dare to touch me, Sir Philip 
Camden ! but tell me exactly how you came in 
possession of my dead sister’s jewels — the ring 
which you gave me as a talisman, and this 
bracelet are stained with her blood, like unknown 
thousands of pounds’ worth in gems and money 
purloined by the same atrocious hand that thrust 


264 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


the fatal poignard in her breast. I would know 
from whence and the very moment they came in 
your keeping ? ” 

Before answering her, Sir Philip threw himself 
quite at ease, into a chair a short space apart from 
where she was sitting. 

I have told you, Dorian, that I bought the 
bracelet at a Florentine jeweler’s ; the ring I pur- 
chased also in Florence,” he said complacently. 

Mrs. Rossmore uttered a shriek of impatience 
at his words. 

“ Why will you be so impervious ? That is 
wholly unsatisfactory ! There are scores of 
jewelers in Florence. What name? Who was 
the merchant ? Upon what street was his estab- 
lishment ? ” 

“ How should I remember, ma chere f I was in 
that city but two days, and took no notice of the 
names of firms, or streets, I was merely passing, 
and seeing the baubles displayed in the windows, 
thought them unique and pretty and bought 
them.” 

It seemed that the lurid fire from her eyes must 
have burned its way to his being’s quickest fibre; 
if so Sir Philip evinced no outward sign of dis- 
comfiture. He met her gaze steadily, and with- 
out the slightest facial quiver as he thus spoke, 
and then sat, like an image carved from stone, 
under the scoffing surveillance which followed, 
and during which Mrs. Rossmore noted for the 


THE DENOUEMENT 


265 


first time the ugly scar which half-revealed itself 
on his upper lip under the thin and tawny 
moustache. 

“ His face is one of subtilty and evil. Peste ! it 
is a serpent’s face I Why have I never before 
marked its resemblance to — ” 

Suddenly she seemed to feel the cold clasp of 
arms about her neck, and to hear a voice whisper 
something that made her shrink back against the 
cushions of the divan, ghastly pale and shivering 
as with a nervous chill. 

At length she unriveted her dazed eyes from 
Sir Philip’s countenance, and fixed them upon 
the bracelet of diamonds. He noticed now that 
her bosom heaved convulsively, and believing her 
to be weeping, he took advantage of this softened 
mood to say, with a tremor of well assumed 
pathos in his voice : “ Tell me, Dorian — for your 
grief’s sake, tell me the story of your past life. 
When did this — oh it seems too dreadful, too hor- 
rible ! — this murder occur ? Commence first and 
tell me something of your sister ; I have never 
heard you speak of her.” 

“To speak of Julie,” said Mrs. Rossmore, her ' 
gaze still riveted upon the jewel in her hand, and 
now her voice sounded with wonderful composure, 

“ means also to speak of myself. I fear you will 
find my story tedio'us, but I will make it brief as 
possible. 

“Eleven years ago,” she commenced, “upon 


266 THE 7JRIDE OF INFELICE 

the death of my father, Julie and I were placed 
in a convent at Paris. My sister was two years 
my senior, and beautiful beyond expression. 
Almost from the very day we entered the convent 
the sisters began importuning her to fit herself 
for the adoption of the veil — to consecrate her life 
in behalf of the Church. Even the priest would 
implore her when she would go to confession to 
devote herself to the studies of the lives of saints 
and to have no other ambition beyond that of the 
holy faith. 

This went on for two years, during which time, 
instead of yielding to their supplications, Julie 
became more hardened each day against them. 
She grew almost to despise the faith, and at times, 
in a great passion would renounce it. One night 
she w^ent to confessional, and after pleading 
vainly with her for a long while, the padre 
ended by calling upon her soul a dreadful 
malediction. ‘You have been branded with a 
fatal beauty,’ he said. ‘ You will go out into the 
wicked world in uncovered orphanage, and your 
face will be your curse ! May it be so, 0 Holy 
One ! If she does not seal her life to the Church, 
may Thy curse be upon her head ! ’ 

“ She came back to me from the chapel, looking 
in her fury, like a demented wraith. In running 
through the long corridors, her hair had become 
loosened, and hung far below her knees in 
shining jetty waves. Her eyes glittered wildly. 


THE DENOUEMENT 


267 


and every fibre of her beautiful face quivered 
with the answer that consumed her. Standing 
thus before me, she tore the rosary from about 
her neck and, breaking the beads asunder, cast 
them to the floor and trod upon them. 

‘“I despise thee ! ’ she cried passionately. ‘ I 
loathe thee, and the sisters and the Mother 
Superior and the priests ! I loathe all connected 
with the Roman Catholic religion ! ’ 

“ Then she turned to me and her face softened. 
She threw herself upon her knees beside me, and 
soon her whole form was convulsed with sobs. 
For some time she wept unrestrainedly. When 
the paroxysm had passed and she was calm again, 
she lifted her face to mine and said in a voice of 
terrible resolve — * Dorian, I am sorry for what I 
said about the sisters and the Mother Superior. 
They have been very kind to us both, and I do 
not hate them. I hope the Holy Virgin will 
forgive my angry words. But I am going to 
escape from this prison ! Oh my sister, help me ! 
If I remain here another month my reason will 
forsake me — I shall go mad!* 

I saw she was in fearful earnest, and I pitied 
her from my inmost heart. 

“The convent is not that heaven where one 
invariably finds the contentment of soul that is 
alleged, and where all the instincts of nature are 
appeased by the Holy Spirit; — the soul may be 
humble, the instincts controlled in a certain 


268 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


degree, but the natural impulses and emotions 
must remain as long as life supports the flesh. 

“ Julie was beautiful, passionate, romantic, cap- 
ricious. Such a nature could not be associated 
with the serene, inactive life of a convent any 
more than the soaring instinct of a bird can be 
assuaged. 

“ I realized this and promised to help obtain 
her liberation, if such a thing were possible. Then 
anxiety of her future seized upon me as I remem- 
bered suddenly that the meagre inheritance left 
us by my father had upon his death-day been 
placed in the hands of the same priest Tvho had 
execrated my poor Julie, and who had been ap- 
pointed our legal guardian until we became of age. 

“ ‘ What little money we have, my sister, is 
controlled by Father C . It will be impossi- 

ble to obtain this ; and without means how will 
you exist ? ’ I asked her. 

“ ‘I will get a position as lady’s maid until I 
can look about me. But my ambition has always 
been to become an actress,’ she said. ‘ I mean to 
apply myself to the study of minor parts for which 
I hope soon to be accepted at one of the theatres.’ 

“I had always known that dramatic art was 
the bent of my sister’s mind, so I made no atj;empt 
to dissuade her in her plans. 

“Now, it so happened that my daily duty at 
convent was to accompany a sister on charitable 
and missionary errands. 


THE DENOUEMENT 


269 


“ I knew that at nightfall on the following day 
the sister would expect me to attend her on a visit 
of mercy to a poor, dying woman in a squalid 
part of the city. 

“Well, I went to the Mother Superior late in 
the afternoon, and pleading a severe headache, 
suggested t]^t Julie be permitted to accompany 
her in my place. Without su&picion she consented 
and just at dusk I kissed my darling in what I 
knew was a final farewell, and saw her depart 
with a countenance so transfigured by thoughts 
of her coming liberation that I feared the keen 
intuition of the sister would suspect and thwart 
her intentions. But she did not. The sister re- 
turned to the convent weeping and ringing her 
hands in a manner most distressing to see. She 
stated that in turning out of the dark, narrow 
street where lived the dying woman they had 
been to see, she had suddenly missed Julie from 
her side, and had called for her, loud and repeat- 
edly, in vain. 

“Father C , our guardian, reported her es- 

cape to the authorities of Paris, but the latter 
would adopt no means toward recovering her to 
the convent, as the record proved her to be within 
a month of her majority. 

“ A few months passed and I had no news of 
my poor sister. Oh, I had always worshipped her 
so ! ” Hereupon Dorian was compelled to pause 
for a moment in order to master her emotion. 


270 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Presently she continued : 

“ With loneliness and anxiety I could not sleep 
of nights or rest through the long, toilsome days. 
I became stupid in my lessons and went to chapel 
always with my heart so empty and disconsolate 
that I could not pray. What made me still more 
wretched yet : as time went on I began to notice 
that the sisters looked upon me with keen suspic- 
ion, especially Sister Teresa, from whom Julie 
had made her escape, and who, it seemed in very 
malice, would, whenever an opportunity offered, 
assign me some disagreeable task ; as, for exam- 
ple, watching all night beside a sick-bed, or teach- 
ing a batch of awkward girls how to embroider. 
In this manner a year passed, at the end of which 
time I had grown to hate convent life as bitterly 
as Julie, only in a different way. The sisters, 
seeming to divine this, began to watch, me closer 
than ever. 1 never left my room without I felt a 
pair of falcon eyes upon me ; and whenever I 
went beyond the convent gates it was by the side 
of a’ black-robed and vigilant monitress, who 
always compelled me to walk a little in advance 
of her, lest, I suppose, by some chance I might 
escape as my sister had. Oh, I assure you, mine 
had become the life of a convict ! Indeed, I often 
thought as I stood at my third-story window look- 
ing out toward the mass of domes and spires of 
the great city, that I had rather be an inmate of 
one of its darkest prison cells than go on living at 


THE DENOUEMENT 


271 


that convent. But, unconsciously to me, my term 
of martyrdom was nearing its close. 

‘‘ One afternoon there came a party of visitors 
to the convent — three Englishmen. As they 
passed through the ward in which I was engaged 
with my amateur class at embroidery, I glanced 
up casually and met the eyes of one of them. 

He was not a man of prepossessing presence, 
and his close, penetrating gaze almost startled 
me. I felt my face burn hotly beneath it. All 
night long I laid awake trying to define the look 
which I had encountered in his eyes, and which 
had seemed so full of significance. 

“ The next day it was rumored about the con- 
vent that one of the gentlemen visitors who had 
recently been there, and who was very wealthy 
and without family ties, had seen a certain young 
lady — an orphan — in the school, for whom he 
had conceived a great fancy, and was eager to 
adopt as his ward. I gave the rumor no thought 
further than to wonder if there were any truth in 
it, and to feel a momentary impetuous sensation 
of envy toward the unknown ‘ orphan’ whose good 
fortune it might have been destined to escape the 
trammels. But that night as 1 was preparing 
to retire there came a little sharpltap at my door. 
I opened it, and whom should I behold but the 
Mother Superior, who never paid a visit to our 
dormitories except on occasions of the most press- 
ing moment. She entered, and, as she did so, 


272 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


bade me throw a mantle over my bedgown, as 
she wished to talk with me. 

‘‘ Wonderingly I obeyed her. 

“Her keen steel-blue eyes had in them the 
same cold and disapproving light with which, of 
late, they had been wont to regard me, and which 
to-night I fairly trembled beneath, feeling an in- 
stinctive prescience that I was standing on the 
threshold of some great crisis. 

“ When I was ready to listen I silently placed a 
chair for her, but she scorned to accept it, gave 
me a branding look for my pains, and, crossing 
herself, murmured something inarticulate in 
Latin. 

“ Then she addressed me, first surveying me 
from head to foot, as a chief on a high seat of jus- 
tice might survey a felon in the box ere he pro- 
nounced upon him some dread sentence. ‘ I,’ 
said she, ‘care not to sit in the presence of Julie 
de Joules d’Arcy, the actress^ sister I * The 
words were almost hissed from her rigid lips. 

“ I repeated them after her ; then, as I began 
to realize their meaning I threw myself forward 
upon my knees at her feet, and, kissing the hem 
of her garment, cried : 

“ ‘ Is it true ? Is my darling then alive and 
well ? and has she succeeded in her ambition to 
become an actress ? Oh ! I have often trembled 
at the thought of hearing of her lest it should be 
to hear that she were dead ! * 


THE DENOUEMENT 


273 


“ She drew her robe fiercely from my hand, and 
the terrible look in her face commanded me to 
my feet. 

“ ‘ Girl ! Dorian de Joules ! ’ panted the woman, 
is your own soul, then, naturally so debased, so 
depraved, so devoid of all womanly instincts that 
it does not rise up and smite you with overwhelm- 
ing shame because of your sister’s downfall ? 
What were your parents ? Were they both unab- 
solved in death that they left the fatal curse of 
Satan upon their progeny ? * 

“ I stood, meeting her eyes with a torrent of 
wild passion-born words upon my lips. She had 
roused within me the proud, resentful, Spanish 
blood ; but it really seemed that at that moment 
I could hear a sound as of the beating of ghostly 
wings, and I knew the spirit of my sainted mother 
was there to defend its own. The thought quieted 
me, so I only said : 

“ ‘ Holy Mother, you are cruel to speak so. 
My parents both died fully confessed and absolved 
from sin, and they are both now sainted spirits in 
heaven. I am sure that my sister has never yet 
fallen from the seat of chastity ; but if she ever 
should it will be because the priest, into whose 
godly keeping my father committed us upon his 
death-day, gave her soul in benediction to the 
evil one ; it will not be because of her own nat- 
ural inclination to fall 

“ She stood aghast under my words, trembling 


274 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICB 


in every limb. I guessed the effort it cost her to 
control her passion. 

“ ‘ I did not come here/ she said, at length, ‘to 
measure words with one so wicked and unchaste ; 
I came merely to advise you, Madamoiselle de 
Joules, that a gentleman who recently visited 
the convent has manifested a desire to adopt you 
as his ward. Read this ! So saying, she placed 
in my hand a sealed envelope, upon opening 
which I read, like one in an enchanted dream, 
the few lines, which were in a cramped little hand, 
and which were signed merely ‘ Albert A. Ross- 
more, London, England.’ 

“ Having seen me in passing through the con- 
vent he had been greatly prepossesed with my 
face and general appearance, and having been 
told, subsequently, by the Mother Superior of the 
convent, that I was an orphan, with but a trifling 
dowry, and no future protector, he was anxious to 
adopt me as his ward [not daughter] and future 
heiress. An Englishman by birth he was, and 
rich hey ond his own reckoning. I should have 
every advantage that money could lavish ; I 
should travel over both continents and choose a 
home from any point of either that I might de- 
sire. Seasonable to my acceptance of his offer he 
would settle one thousand pounds upon the Con- 
vent of The , previous to my departure 

therefrom. 

“ This was his letter in the abstract, and I shall 


TEE DENOUEMENT 


275 


not attempt to convey the mad delight it gave 
me. Suffice it to say that having at once intui- 
tively guessed Mr. Rossmore to be the English- 
man who had watched me so intently the day 
before, and after accustoming myself to the real- 
ity of the strange situation, I sent him a note 
granting an early interview. 

“ Two days later, I quitted my convent home 
legally adopted as Albert Rossmore’s ward. 

“ Now, to continue the story of Julie : 

“ The first thing I did after finding myself in 
the free and dazzling space of the great city, was 
to seek out my sister. It was not a difficult 
undertaking. I remembered the name that the 
Mother Superior had applied when speaking of 
her, ‘ Julie de Joules d’ Arcy.’ Of course the latter 
was her stage name. I looked through the 
Figaro for the theater announcements, and found 
the beloved name heading one of the principal 
bills. She was playing Rosalind in ‘As You Like 
It,’ and the press comments which followed under 
the heading were of the most enthusiastic and 
flattering kind. I took the paper to Mr. Rossmore, 
and after proudly explaining who Julie d’ Arcy 
was, expressed a desire to go to the play that 
night. He took me. We occupied a box nearest 
the stage — so near, indeed, that I could have 
whispered to my darling when she appeared. 
Imagine, if you can, that supreme moment when 
in the scene with Celia, she glanced up at our 


276 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


box, and, recognizing me instantly, made a sud- 
den, impetuous movement with her arms, then 
paling, like quick death, recovered herself with a 
masterful effort and went on with her acting. 
Her emotion had been so swift that I do not think 
any in the house perceived it except myself and 
Mr. Rossmore. But many times she flashed her 
splendid eyes upward toward our box, with untold 
rapture in them ; and when she cried in the play 
her tears were so genuine that they moved the 
house and made her more of a paragon than ever. 

“Well, the flrst act over, she stole up to our 
box and dragged me down to her dressing-room, 
where we kissed and wept over each other as 
much as we dared for her safety. Then, while 
her maid dressed her for the second act — oh ! 
how tall and grand ; how brave and beautiful 
looked she in her disguise as Ganymede ! — she 
made me go back over the sixteen months that 
had lapsed since we had seen each other, and tell 
her everything that had happened. 

“ After the play was over, I went with her to 

her apartments in the Rue du N , where we 

sat up the remaining hours of the night, rejoicing 
over our strange re-union. She went over her 
stage career, which had been one of consecutive 
triumphs since she made her dehut, ten months 
previously, as Phebe, the Shepardess, in the same 
play, which had brought her Rosalind so many 
laurels. She had an album fllled with press 


THE DENOUEMENT 


277 


trophies — numberless lines from the pens of love- 
lorn critics, who extolled her beauty, her grace 
and rare talent as an actress to the very deities. 

“ Her jewels, many of which were the tribunals 
of peers, were a fortune in themselves, and com- 
prised numerous pieces of unique and exquisite 
workmanship. This bracelet ” — lovingly touch- 
ing the bauble which she had clasped upon her 
arm while talking, was presented her by my 
guardian about a month after our re-union. At 
the same time I gave her a circlet, composed of 
eleven diamonds and one emerald. I had the 
ring made after an original fancy. The eleven 
diamonds represented the letters of our first 
names, and the single emerald was an emblem of 
destiny. It made a significant and a sacred talis- 
man, and Julie promised me that it should never 
leave her finger while she lived. 

“I remember that she wore the bracelet behind 
the footlights once, then placed it in a small cab- 
inet-drawer among the rest of her diamonds. 
There was a separate compartment in the cabinet 
for pearls, and one also for miscellaneous gems. 

“ She always kept her valuables under a safety- 
lock at her own apartments, for which hazardous 
practice I often remonstrated with her ; but she 
would always laugh at my warnings, saying that 
if burglars should break into her rooms they 
would never suspect the homely little metal box. 

“ Among my sister’s many suitors, there was 


278 


THE BRIDE OF INFEIICE 


one whose attentions had always been obnoxious 
to her ; but who would inflict them upon her on 
every possible occasion. One afternoon when I 
was paying Julie a visit, his name was announced, 

‘ Philip Stanton.’ 

** ‘ I am not at home to any one this afternoon,’ 
Julie commanded the servant to say to her visitor, 
but the man returned presently to say that Mon- 
sieur insisted upon an interview ; that he was to 
leave Paris on the ensuing day, and would not 
importune her again if she so willed it ; and so 
Julie gave a reluctant assent. But when the ser- 
vant had gone she turned to me with keen dis- 
pleasure and something of fear in her lovely face, 
and whispered supplicating] y : 

“ ‘ Dorian, do not leave me alone for one in- 
stant with this man. I fear him ! There is always 
a look in his eyes when they are fixed upon me 
that makes me recoil with instinctive dread. My 
soul tells me that he is a nefarious person.’ 

When I saw the man a moment later, I was 
convinced that my sister was right in her opinion. 
Duplicity and cunning were written on every fea- 
ture of his face, which I watched covertly from 
my coin of vantage in the alcove. 

“ Monsieur Sir Philip,” Dorian hereupon paren- 
thesised, fixing her strangely brilliant eyes upon 
her listener who was beginning to show signs of 
restiveness, “I see I am tiring you; but I am 


THE DENOUEMENT 


279 


now upon the last chapter of my story, and will 
not tax your patience much longer. 

“ Philip Stanton was not aware of my pres- 
ence in the room, as the portieres concealed me 
from view. But every word of their interview 
reached my listening ear. I heard his insolent 
appeal for her hand. I heard my darling’s answer, 
which was calm, decisive and final, and then the 
man’s dreadful threats. 

“ ‘ Madamoiselle d’Arcy,’ he said as he bowed 
himself from her presence, ‘you have not seen 
the last of me ! Au revoir, until that moment 
comes when you will find yourself as entirely at 
my mercy as a feather is at the mercy of a hurri- 
cane. That moment will come as surely as you 
live, and that, too, when you least expect it.’ 

“ A few days subsequently Julie’s engagement 
at the Paris theatre closed, and ere booking her- 
self for others, she concluded to take a brief vaca- 
tion, of which she stood much in need. 

“ Mr. Rossmore and myself had planned to go 
to Marseilles for a yachting trip up the Mediter- 
ranean, and as my sister had always felt an 
instinctive dread of the water, she declined our 
invitation to accompany us. So we left her in 
Paris with a promise to rejoin her after a fortnight. 
We had been in Marseilles, however, but two days, 
when one morning as we sat at breakfast, and my 
guardian was running his eye along the columns 
of a popular Parisian journal, I heard a quick, 


280 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


startled exclamation escape him. Looking up I 
saw that Mr. Rossmore was as pale as death and 
trembling with some emotion which he seemed to 
be striving to suppress. 

“ My eye, in seeking to discover the cause of 
his agitation, fell upon the paper which he had 
hastily thrown aside. Actuated by some strange 
intuitive impulse, I took it^up, whereupon the first 
thing that met my eye was — was these wOrds : 
‘ A Ghastly Crime,’ with the underlines running 
thus : 

“ ‘ Madamoiselle Julie d’Arcy, the beautiful and 
gifted young actress, foully murdered while asleep 

at her apartments in the Rfie du N . All her 

jewels and money stolen.’ ” ^ 

In quoting the terrible words a ghastly pallor 
crept over Dorian’s face. 

For a moment Sir Philip believed she was going 
to faint again, but gradually she mastered the 
dizzy sensation sufiiciently to go on : 

It was the last I knew for weeks. When I 
opened my eyes again in consciousness, they told 
me I had been at death’s door with an attack of 
brain fever. My first thoughts were of my mur- 
efed sister. They told me that no clue had yet 
been found of her assassin, except that upon the 
night of the crime, two masked men had been 

seen in the neighborhood of the Rue du N , 

by a party coming out of a cafe. Later on a 
Frenchman, one M. Alphonse Favraud, was 


THE DENOUEMENT 


281 


arrested on suspicion and placed in prison, where 
he remained for nearly a year awaiting his trial, 
and then was found not guilty and acquitted. 
Meanwhile grief of my cruel bereavement was 
wearing my life away, and the physicians advised 
my guardian to take me away from the scene of 
my sorrow, so we at once set sail for America. 
Eight years have passed, and all the light that 
has ever been thrown upon the foul assassination 
which, at the time, filled all Europe with horror, 
is that which to-night falls from these diamonds, 
and that is no better than the light of an eclipsed 
planet — it reveals nothing, and yet it brings my 
sorrow back to me vividly — vividly as though it 
were only yesterday that I suffered the cruel 
agonies ! 

There followed a heavy pause, during which 
the woman’s long pent-up tears fell unrestrainedly. 
After what seemed an age to Sir Philip, she lifted 
her wet face, and, looking at him through a 
blurring mist, said almost bluntly : 

“Please leave me now. Monsieur. I shall 
return to Boston to-morrow, and have yet my 
packing to attend to.” 

He rose and stood looking down upon the 
ruined idol of his dreams. 

“You will not drive me from you, my poor 
Dorian, before I have expressed my sym ” 

She stayed him with a scornful sweep of her 
hand. 


282 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“ A man,” said she, “ is more the real man who 
does not attempt to measure sympathy with trite 
words. 'Moreover, if you were eloquent as De- 
mosthenes, your language would fall flat when 
brought to bear upon such a grief as mine — and 
you. Sir Philip — pardon, Monsieur — were never 
eloquent — scarce a passable linguist, you know. 
Now, au revoir ! Yet, stay — if by any possible 
chance you should run against Fred Bentwell 
again to-night, just kindly explain, will you, that 
I am anxious for a speedy reconciliation ? I do 
not want him to disgrace himself by getting on a 
regular debauch. They would hear of it in 
Boston, and calumny clings to one, you know, 
like the stain on a murderer's hands." 

With these words and another empty au revoir ^ 
she dismissed him. 

Some one remarked Sir Philip’s face as he 
passed through the foyer of the hotel on his way 
out, and that person observed to himself : ‘‘ It is 
like the face of King Richard the Third, after 
awakening from his ghost-dream I ” 

As he passed on down the almost deserted 
thoroughfare, Sir Philip muttered to himself : ‘‘I, 
too, shall return to Boston to-morrow from where 
I shall proceed at once to Maplehurst, where my 
French spy must by this time be well prepared 
for a cold dip in the Merrimac I — Then — then 
for a weapon against her /” 


CHAPTER XXXI 


MIDNIGHT MASS 

'Twas whispered in heaven, 'twas muttered in hell, 

And echo caught faintly the sound as it fell. 

On the confines of earth ’twas permitted to rest, 

And the depths of the ocean its presence confessed. 

’--Catherine M. Fanshawe. 

W HEN Sir Philip’s footsteps had receded 
down the corridor, Dorian sprang toward 
the door and locked it securely. 

As she turned back into the solitude of the 
rooms, her eyes glittered wildly, and she pressed 
both hands to her temples to stay the hot blood 
that was surging and throbbing there, threaten- 
ing to drive her mad. 

She murmured some inarticulate, passionate 
words as she swept rapidly up and down the 
spacious rooms, her velvet train twisting and 
coiling itself behind her, like a huge serpent, her 
chest heaving tumultuously, her face no longer 
pale, but flushed with the conflicting emotions 
that were raging within her bosom. 

Presently she paused near the center of the 
room, and, with her hand clasped tightly over the 
diamond bracelet on her arm, and her burning 
eyes uplifted toward the ceiling, she commenced 
( 283 ) 


284 


THE BRIDE OF INEELICE 


speaking in a calmei voice, as if in communion 
with a visible spirit : 

“ At last, my beautiful, white- winged dove, there 
is light shining through the age-long night ! At 
last I stand on a pinnacle of truths from which I 
view thy brute-murderer through his foul dis- 
guise ! Oh, Julie ! could I but span the abys- 
mal space of ocean which this night divides us> 
and go and lay my hand upon the cold stone 
that guards thy form in its sepulchre, it seems to 
me my triumphant touch would sunder wide the 
marble, and thou wouldst walk forth in thy white 
shroud to exult with me, and to head the proces- 
sion that soon — ah, soon! — my sainted sister, will 
march to the execution of thy vile assassinator I 
Soon, soon will , the whole of Europe shout in a 
joyous ^exultation at his death ! 'Hark I Even 
now methinks I can hear the bells of Paris clam- 
oring a jubilant accompaniment to their song — 
Ah / ’’—she paused suddenly, and drawing a long 
breath, as of ecstasy, leaned forward in a listening 
attitude. 

“I was mistaken,” she went on presently, as if 
still in communion with the dead. ’Tis but the 
cathedral bells sounding twelve. It is the signal 
for midnight, Christmas mass.” 

She crossed over to the window, and parting 
the heavy silken draperies, looked down on the 
avenue where a few late pedestrians were hurry- 
ing through the driving sleet. 


MIDNIGHT MASS 


285 


** It storms,” she observed to herself in some 
surprise, for when they had returned from the 
restaurant, two hours previously, there had been a 
weight of icy dampness in the air, but no sleet 
nor wind. The storm had come on suddenly^ 

She turned shivering from the window and, 
with a look of resolution on her face, rang for a 
cab. 

A few moments later, enveloped in a long black 
circular, and closely veiled, she left the hotel and 
entered the coujpe in waiting at the curb. 

“To the Koman Catholic Cathedral,’’ was the 
order given to the driver, and the next moment 
she was being whirled over the cobblestones in 
the direction of that sacred edifice. 

During that brief, cheerless drive, she was 
thinking of .her past intimacy with Sir Philip 
Camden, whose touch she still seemed to feel con- 
taminating her, like that of a serpent. 

“ Heavens ! The thought that his lips have 
often been pressed upon my hands; that his blood- 
stained hands have fondled my hair ; that his 
vile arms have rested about my waist ! Ugh ! ” 

She shuddered and flung open the cab-door, 
letting the cold night wind, with its accompany- 
ing sleet, blow in upon her. 

It seemed at that moment the only thought 
that kept her from going stark mad was that her 
intimacy with Sir Philip had been on her part but 
a subterfuge. 


286 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


From the very day that she was introduced to 
the man she had experienced an instinctive dis- 
like of him ; later she had brought herself to 
endure him, nay, to even talk and coquette with 
him in the frivolous, unmeaning way that she 
coquetted with scores of others. But from that 
moment when he had placed the talisman upon 
her hand, she felt her aversion of him return with 
redoubled force. From that moment she began 
to suspect him of duplicity. That he was in some 
manner associated with the dark mystery which 
for years had shrouded the tomb of her sister she 
had believed as firmly as she believed in the stars 
of heaven ; and in order to penetrate into his past 
life and search there for a key that might unlock 
and open the iron door at which the law had so 
long been knocking in vain, she had forced her- 
self to submit to his almost constant companion- 
ship, and had even feigned some reciprocation of 
his sentiments toward her, encouraging him to 
believe that she would succeed to the position in 
his life which Lady Hortense had filled so unsat- 
isfactorily. 

But all at once her fictitious r6le had become 
insupportable, and she had resolved to abandon 
it, even at the sacrifice of that “key ” which she 
had so ambitiously hoped to find among those 
rotten leaves that Sir Philip so zealously sat upon 
and guarded. 

At that last critical moment, however, when 


MIDNIGHT MASS 


287 


she had receded but a step from her purpose, she 
had looked back and beheld, shining there, the 
monstrous revelation ! At the same instant she 
had seemed to feel a pair of soft arms close about 
her, and to hear an exultant voice whisper : 

“ That is Philip Stanton ! I cut the scar upon 
his lip with my ring — your talisman — in striving 
to defend myself against his uplifted dagger.’’ 

It was true I All at once Dorian had recog- 
nized the evil face before her as that of the man 
whom her sister had rejected, and who had so 
malevolently threatened her. The disfiguring 
scar, together with the intervening years of 
reckless adventure, had changed it almost 
beyond recognition ; while yet to add to this dis- 
guise his physique, which had then been slight, 
had grown corpulent and robust. 

A shiver ran through Dorian’s frame as she 
recalled those warning words. They had been 
uttered in the same dear, familiar tone that she 
last heard sounding in life as Julie kissed her in 
farewell at the station in Paris nine years previ- 
ously : “ Au revoir^ chere soeur ! In a fortnight, 
then I shall be looking for you back.” 

After the ghostly whispered words and the giv- 
ing way of that cold clasp about her neck, Dorian 
had heard a swift-rushing sound, as of vanishing 
wings. Then she had remembered no more until 
she heard Sir Philip’s voice saying : 

“ My poor Dorian ! ” 


288 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Oh ! the horrible sensation which at that 
instant she had experienced as she thrust him 
from her, realizing herself in the presence of her 
sister’s murderer, could not be described I and 
afterwards, how she had struggled for outward 
calm, that he might not read ail that was going 
on within her triumphant woman’s soul, even 
forcing herself to tell the long story of poor Julie’s 
life ! Oh, it was terrible ! 

She thought back upon that age-long hour, 
during which she had talked to him with such 
seeming complacency, and wondered how she 
had restrained herself from hurling her revenge- 
ful tigress self forward and burying the stiletto, 
which she always carried secreted in her bosom, 
after the custom of her mother’s race, up to its 
jeweled hilt in his black, basilisk heart. 

“ But I am glad I did restrain myself,” she 
said, as she looked out on the thoroughfare whose 
desolation the electric lights, hanging pale and 
high in the dense atmosphere, seemed only to 
intensify. “ I,” she added, “ would prefer to see 
the expression of his face when the law lays 
hands upon him, which will be the moment he 
, arrives in Boston.” 

They were now in sight of the Roman Catholic 
Cathedral. Dorian looked toward the church 
and saw dim lights shining from the stained glass 
windows. She had been filled with a sudden 
longing to enter that sanctuary and kneel before 


MIDNIGHT MASS 


289 


the Holy Virgin in humble thanksgiving, for 
surely she had cause to feel both humbleness and 
gratitude on this dying Christmas night. 

“I will be absent only for a little space of 
time,’^ she said to the driver as she alighted from 
the equipage ; and a few moments later she was 
kneeling before one of the brightly lighted and 
inflorescent altars in the church. 

Very humble indeed looked the beautiful creole, 
Dorian, with hands crossed on her breast over her 
dark cloak, her head bowed upon the chancel rail, 
her lips moving in hurried words of prayer, the 
fervor of which was betokened by the glittering 
drops that fell thick and fast upon the carpet 
from her eyes. 

When she rose at length, and drew the thick 
veil over her face to depart, her features shone as 
if illumined by a benediction; and as she walked 
slowly down the long aisle of the hallowed place 
the song of the choristers floated to her. They 
were singing “ The Herald of the Angels.” 


CHAPTER XXXII 


THE MIDNIGHT BELL 

Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark 
I would question thee, 

Alone in the shadow drear and stark 
With God and me! 

What, my soul, was thy errand here? 

Was it mirth or ease, 

Or heaping up dust from year to year? 
‘ Nay, none of these ! ’ 


^Whittier—" My Soul and I.*' 


N opalescent glow shone upon the white hills 



iV and lowlands, making the former look like 
pinnacles of precious stones, when Lady Hortense 
and her maid reached Maplehurst. 

The castle, with its broad, dark, stone-shafted 
casements, its snow-wreathed towers and silvered 
spires, looked not less solemnly grand on this late 
December evening than some venerable fortress 
prison. Yet, as she came in sight of those som- 
bre walls, albeit she confessed to herself that she 
had never experienced anything of happiness 
within them, something of peace and restfulness 
fell athwart the tired out soul of Lady Camden, 
while a flash of the old light that had in by-gone 
days illumined the beauty of her face, leaped into 
life as they passed through the outer gates and 


( 290) 


THE MIDNIGHT BELL 


291 


over the snow-embedded courtyard toward the 
massive Gothic entrance to the castle. 

When a few yards from the closed portals she 
paused to listen a moment to the uproarious voice 
of waters rushing below the terrace wall. 

“ Anine,” said she, “ the river must have swol- 
len much during our absence, but as yet it is not 
frozen. Listen ! do not the waters make a mighty 
rushing sound ? ” 

“Yes, miladi, but I like not to hear them,” 
answered the girl with an involuntary shiver. “ I 
have never liked to hear the sound of the river 
since the — since — since I first came to Maple- 
hurst.” She had been on the eve of saying 
“since the time that I first heard you murmur 
in your sleep something about blood-dyed waters,” 
but she checked the words by a sudden impulse, 
and her mistress in her pre -occupation failed to 
notice the incoherency with which she had sub- 
stituted the others. 

Old Ephriam, the guard whom Sir Philip had 
left on the premises, had been drowsing away the 
winter afternoon in the stable loft, and so had 
failed to hear the brisk trotting of horses’ hoofs 
on the hard snow, accompanied by the tinkling 
of sleigh bells ; hence the two women approached 
the house uninterrupted and entered by means of 
Lady Hortense’s key. 

They passed through the dark halls in which 
reigned a deathlike stillness and ascended at once 


292 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


to the Louis Quinze apartments, having gained 
which Anine ensconced her mistress among a pile 
of rugs on the lounge, strictly enjoining her not 
to remove even so much as a glove until she had 
kindled a fire ; for the rooms were cold as a tomb. 
But ere long all the delicate gold and white appoint- 
ments therein were made the play-grounds for 
ruddy flame-bdams, and as the warmth increased, 
my lady was permitted gradually to divest her- 
self of shawls and sables, and at length sho stood 
at her favorite post in the deep window-place 
watching the last opal wreaths of the sunset 
vanish under the stars. 

Below, on one side rushed the dark river with 
surface seething and foam-flecked, with voice 
thunderous and never still ; while on the other 
side stretched the white esplanade peopled with 
spirit-birch and maple trees, and looking withal 
like a beleaguered acre. 

There was nothing cheerful in that wintry 
twilight picture — you or I, methinks, would have 
drawn the curtains over it and turned us to the 
glowing grate instead. But Lady Hortense loved 
to gaze upon it — after the ceaseless rattle and 
glare of the city the river’s voice was as a lullaby 
to her soul, the empty whiteness of the landscape 
was as balm. It was not until her maid 
announced that tea was served that she turned 
from the scene. 

“Ah! Anine, you are worth your weight in 


i 


THE MIIMGRT BELL 


293 


pure gold ! exclaimed Lady Camden, as her 
glance fell upon the daintily spread little table. 
“I had not considered the need of food during our 
brief stay here,’’ she added, smiling at her own 
short-sightedness. 

Anine had thoughtfully provided a loaf, some 
freshly-dairied butter, besides many other dainty 
little edibles which she thought her young mis- 
tress would enjoy, and which, with a cup of 
fragrant tea, made up a most delightful repast; 
but one, to her disappointment, that Lady Hor- 
tense found herself unable to taste. In vain did 
Anine sit tearfully by, entreating her to “just try 
a bit of cold chicken-wing.” No, she could only 
drink the tea. 

“Remember, Anine,” she kept repeating, “we 
lunched very late,” at which the French girl only 
shook her head aggrieved, saying, “ Oh, miladi, 
you ate nothing, nothing and her dejection 
robbed her of her own healthful appetite. As she 
cleared away the tea things her mistress rose and 
again walked over to the window place, and 
Anine followed her presently, wheeling a low 
fauteuil which she placed for her close up to the 
uncurtained pane, and thus commanded a full 
view of the winter’s landscape. 

The transformation which had suddenly been 
wrought upon the early night, made Lady 
Camden clasp her hands in silent ecstacy. 

A full moon was rising, it seemed to her, out of 


294 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


the very abyss of waters, and sent a red reful- 
gence over the broad aqua-acre, making it look 
like an expanse of seething silver. In the pale, 
translucent light the birch and maple trees 
seemed to beckon at each other with their 
phantom arms, while out beyond the white, far- 
reaching plain, where the hills raised their undu- 
lating brows against the horizon, there floated a 
gauze like transparency, which glittered like the 
quivering fall of myriad diamonds. 

No wonder Lady Hortense sighed again and 
again as she sat there in rapt contemplation of 
the beautiful spectacle, and those words of 
Southey which rose to her lips and which she 
repeated half aloud, were very appropriately 
applied to it : 

No mist obscures, no cloud, nor speck nor stain 
Breaks the serene of heaven; 

In full-orbed glory yonder moon divine 
Reels through the dark-blue depths. 

Beneath her steady ray 
The desert-circle spreads. 

Like the round ocean girdled with the sky. 

One hour passed and yet another ; still she 
sat motionless, with her white hands clasped 
upon her lap, gazing forth and thinking in tearless 
silence — in silence communing with her soul : 

What daunts thee now ? What shakes thee so ? 

My sad soul ; say. 

“Death? I am very young — I am only twenty. 
Is not that very young to die, 0 soul of mine ? 
0 stars I 0 tender moon I Once as I gazed 


THE MIDNIGHT BELL 


295 


upward at thy serenity, my heart was glad, and 
flight and young, and shared all that was most 
beautiful and sublime in life ! how long ago was 
that that my soul tells me now I must die f I 
must have wandered further than I thought into 
benighted space, and away from thy shining love 
— it must be years since my life became so cold 
and dark and barren of all that used to make it 
glad — I must be old — very old now ! My soul 
tells me I am near the valley of the shadow — oh, 
it is still there — profoundly still and cold ! Yet I 
— I do not feel afraid, for God is there I -Ah, soul 
of mine — 

What to thee is shadow, to Him is day, 

And the end he kuoweth, 

And not on a blind and aimless way 
Thy spirit goeth. 

It is better as it is — better, a thousand times 
better to die in His all-merciful love, than to live 
and offend him by my iniquitous loving. Far, 
far better than that, dearest Alice, will be a low 
grave, over which you and he, my idol — (I can 
call him my idol away out here in this isolated 
spot where only my soul and the archangel 
hear) will stand and hear them say : ‘ I am 

the Resurrection and the Life,’ but you will 
never know the secret of my heart — it will be 
buried with me, and the tears, my gentle friend, 
that may fall from your eyes upon my grave, 
‘ like the slow, sad dropping of rain,’ will have 
naught of the bitterness in them which the knowl- 
edge of my story would have engendered.” 


296 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


Miladi, it is ten o’clock,” said Anine, break- 
ing suddenly in upon her sad reverie. 

Lady Camden started. 

“Good Anine,” said she, without looking 
around. “ I am sure you must be tired. I have 
been so thoughtless ! Bring in your pallet and 
retire at once. I will sit up yet a little while. 
The night is so perfect and I am not in the least 
sleepy.” 

Anine sighed and returned to the ottoman, 
where all the evening she had sat, reading a late 
Boston journal which she had brought with her 
from town. 

The girl believed that she had read every 
article of interest in the paper, but there was a 
certain little lyric which she wished to clip out 
to send to le bon homme, in the distant Pyrenees, 
who wrote that ere long he was going to cross the sea 
to claim his bonne petite and bear her as his bride 
back to France. The stanzas flavored of the 
tenderest sentiment, and as she eagerly scanned 
the columns in search of them, her eye suddenly 
came in contact with a paragraph which she had 
previously overlooked. It was a telegram from 
London and was headed “A Skillful Fraud.” 
The lines ran thus : 

“News has just been conveyed to the London police 
that Philip Stanton, alias George Courtney, an English 
plebeian and a notorious scoundrel, is at present living 
at a magnificent country estate in America, somewhere 
in the vicinity of Boston, Massachusetts, and that he 
circulates his false person under a distinguished title. 


THE MIDNIGHT BELL 


297 


The report, which is entirely authentic, we have every 
reason to believe, says that Stanton was married a year 
ago to an aristocratic young American lady, of rare 
beauty and a fine bank account, who has all these 
months been living under the cruel hallucination that 
she bears her title and the arms emblazoned on her 
carriage by an undisputed right. The lady will soon be 
advised of the true character of her husband, and Stan- 
ton apprehended and brought to England, under whose 
laws he will be punished for the score of criminal 
offenses charged against him.” 

This is what poor, dazed Anine read and 
re-read ere she would believe that she had not 
dreamed the terrible truth. With a tearful, 
whispered supplication to Heaven to deliver her 
young mistress from the cruel disgrace that was 
hanging over her, she crushed the paper into an 
unrecognizable mass, then throwing it into the 
grate she watched the flames reduce it to a pale 
heap of ashes, after which, with a set, livid face, 
she again approached that silent flgure in the 
embrasure of the window. 

“ Come, miladi,” urged she, “ you will not be 
able to return to the city to-morrow if you do not 
sleep.’^ 

Lady Hortense made no reply, but silently 
suffered the girl to lead her away. 

Half an hour later the lights were burning low 
in the Louis Quinze rooms, and all was wrapped in 
profound solitude. Yet neither of the inmates 
slept. 

Lady Hortense lay quietly listening to the 
sound of which she never tired — that of the 


298 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


waters rushing below the terrace — and striving 
to soothe her restive soul with thoughts of the 
great happiness that had overtaken the ones she 
mostly loved. She pictured their future to her- 
self, and seemed to see Thayer Volney, the young 
nobleman, a rising member of Parliament — he 
had once confided to her his great aim, which was 
to become an earnest politician — and lord of a 
worthy establishment, wherein Alice was the 
beacon light and the inspiration through which 
his greatest and noblest purposes attained success 
She saw her children, with tiny faces repeating 
his own ideal image, going out to meet Thayer^ 
and their fair-haired mother standing proudly on 
the threshold waiting with happy kisses to 
exchange. She fancied many such pictures as 
this, and tried to convince herself that they 
soothed the aching void in her heart, and at last 
from sheer faintness, she fell into a kind of 
stupor with the chime of wedding bells in her 
ear. In her dreams she was at the church, 
before her rose the altar, with its lovely burden 
of flowers — all white, white, white ; with inter- 
minglings of soft and shining green. From the 
stained windows above there descended the light 
of day, bathing all in a tender, hallowed eflful- 
gence, while subtly above the pervading hush 
there rose those strains of Lohengrin — those 
beautiful bridal strains, sweet as though sung by 
a chorus of angels. “ They are coming now 


THE MIDNIGHT BELL 


299 


— the bridal train ! See ! They enter ! They 
pass up the long aisle toward the white, 
white chancel. She with her beautiful, radiant 
face, down bent, and her violet eyes, shining 
through the meshes of her long veil, dim with 
happy, unshed tears, and fixed upon the cluster 
of lilies in her hand. He, proud, handsome, tall, 
erect, his gaze bent straightway before him, tow- 
ard the spot where they will presently kneel 
together and make their solemn vows — vows that 
will bind them until death I Aye, until, in and 
beyond death ! The bridal chorus of the angels 
has ceased. All, all is silent now — only Tor an 
instant, however, when comes the clear pronun- 
ciation, ‘Man and wife.’ A benediction, then 
they turn, and arm in arm pass slowly from the 
church. The crowd has followed. I alone am 
left in the holy place — with God 1 I weep, and 
God, seeing my tears, even through my thick veil, 
knows they are shed for very joy that they are 
wed, and happy ! I go up and kiss the spot 
where his feet have been — and hers ; and then, 
with a deep unrest engendered of the longing to 
make some greater manifestation of my joy, I 
wander — wander — wander — ” 

Meanwhile, as Lady Hortense day in that 
dreamful stillness, Anine with her face muffled 
in the coverlets of her pallet, sobbed unrestrain- 
edly as she offered up earnest supplications in 
behalf of her beloved mistress. 


300 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“0 mon Dieu ! if her young life is already 
blighted to the death, as it does seem, let Thou 
her grave be sealed ere falls this threatened grief 
upon her ! She is so good, so innocent, so pure, 
O Holy God ! so, if Thou would st take her, take 
her whilst yet her heart is unfestered by the 
knowledge of her husband’s vileness !” 

This was the prayer Anine repeated again and 
a gain — repeated until with salt tears dried upon 
her virgin cheek, she, too, sank into troubled 
slumber. 

She awoke suddenly to find herself in a sitting 
posture, with her heart beating wildly from some 
unknown cause. 

“ What awakened me ? ” whispered the dazed 
girl. “ No sound is here, save that of the river, 
and the night winds murmuring by. Perhaps — 
mon Dieu ! what is this I ” cried she as her eyes 
turned toward her mistress’ bed, whose curtains 
were tossed aside revealing it empty I 

Bounding to her feet, the now terrified girl 
almost shrieked : 

“ Miladi ! Miladi ! ” 

Only the echo of her own voice came to her in 
response. 

She turned up the lights so that she could better 
search the rooms, but look as she would there was 
no sign of her mistress anywhere. Her white 
robe de chamhre, with its accompanying silver 
girdle, was just where she had placed it when 


THE MIDNIGHT BELL 


801 


she had dressed her mistress for bed, and the 
little embroidered slippers were in their usual 
place. Nothing was disturbed. As Anine stood 
wringing her hands and shivering from head to 
foot in dire distress, there rushed upon her a sud- 
den thought. Once or twice during her stay at 
Maplehurst she had known Lady Camden to walk 
in her sleep. The thought reassured her. Of 
course,” thought she, “ I will find her in one of 
the halls or corridors.” She hastily adjusted her 
dressing gown and thrust her bare feet in slip- 
pers ; then taking a candle she started forth. 
Just as as she reached the door, however, a sound 
thrilled through the house that riveted her to the 
spot. 

It was the tower bell ! 

Three slow and doleful strokes it sounded, then 
was still. 

“That,” whispered the newly terrified maid, 
“ is the noise which first awakened me ! Can it 
be my mistress has gone up to the belfry ? ” 

Scarcely crediting the thought, she moved out 
into the hall, scanned futilely its rambling space, 
and the corridors leading from it ; from one of 
these she passed up the narrow flight of stairs, 
thence along a narrow corridor to the belfry steps. 
Ascending these she stood upon the threshold and 
looked in. 

Through the stained-glass skylight above, the 
moonbeams fell, fixing bright patches on the 


302 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


floor, in the midst of which there stood a ^ tall, 
slight figure, over whose sweeping, spotless robe 
thick masses of black hair streamed in wild aban- 
donment. Her eyes were wide open, her lips half- 
parted, her face uplifted toward the swaying bell, 
and stamped with an awful vacancy. Upreach- 
ing were her hands, as if about to grasp the 
swaying rope again. 

As Anine stood, afraid to make a sound lest it 
should awaken her mistress in this weird and ter- 
rifying place, she heard her say : 

“ Thou hast chimed twice for Thayer, thrice for 
Alice, now toll one for the dying.” 

“ One ! ” 

Oh, that knell was full of woe and prayer ! 
When the sound had quite declined into the 
silence. Lady Camden turned and started toward 
the door. 

Anine now slipped noiselessly down the steps, 
holding the candle low in front of her, that its 
rays might not attract those open yet unconscious 
eyes, and shrinking against the wall behind the 
bannisters, she allowed the sleeping woman to 
pass half-way down the corridor before she es- 
sayed to follow her. 

Now, the girl had been standing, unconsciously, 
against the very aperture in the wall of Alphonse 
Favraud^s prison. 

Imagine, then, if you can, her horror, when, 
just as she started to pursue her mistress, she felt 


THE MIDNIGHT BELL 


803 


herself being held back by some mysterious power. 

Madamoiselle ! said a ghastly voice which 
seemed to come from the very wall behind her, 
“be not afraid. I am a prisoner here and am in 
momentary peril of death from starvation! My 
hands are paralyzed and helpless from striving to 
work a way through this wall to freedom. My 
body is numb and frozen. Release me! For the 
love of God release and give me food, that I may 
yet live to revenge myself upon my would-be 
murderer ! ” 

The voice ceased, and Anine felt the hand re- 
lease its hold of her. 

She turned, and placing the candle close to the 
aperture gazed in upon the prisoner. 

Oh ! the sight that met her eyes was unspeak- 
ably frightful ! — the glaring orbs : the pinched 
cadaverous features ; the long unkempt hair and 
beard ! They made up a thing so ghastly that any 
but Anine must have fled from it in vdld afright. 
But she had become accustomed to strange and 
ghastly experiences by this time, and when at 
length she spoke to him, she was quite self-pos- 
sessed : 

“ How long have you been imprisoned here ? ” 
she asked, calmly. 

“ I cannot say, madamoiselle. It has seemed 
like an eternal age to me, but since I first saw the 
light through this crevice I have counted seven 
days and nights,^’ responded the Frenchman. 


304 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


“ Who is your jailer ? 

“Who? Peste! Who should it be but one who 
styles himself Sir Philip Camden, but is a com- 
mon-blood, like the veriest vagrant-hound, and a 
chartered envoy of Satan ! ” 

“ You are a Frenchman — one of my own coun- 
try. What is your name ? ” the girl questioned. 

“ Favraud is my name, madamoiselle, Alphonse 
Favraud,” said the man. 

“Alphonse Favraud!’' repeated Anine. “I 
have heard that name before — Ah I were you not 
once arrested in Paris, and tried for the murder 
of a young actress named Julie d’Arcy ? ” 

“ Old, madamoiselle the man responded 
promptly. 

“ Has that murder case anything to do with 
your presence here ? ” 

“ Oui, petite ami, it is the very key by which I 
entered,” answered Favraud, with smiling com- 
placency. 

“ Was Sir Philip in any way implicated in that 
atrocious affair ? ” the young girl questioned 
breathlessly. 

“You will know — the whole world will have 
heard the denouement by to-morrow night. Only 
give me food and drink, also pen, ink and paper, 
that I may make a written statement in case I 
should die before I reach the authorities.” 

“ Only answer me one more question and I will 
serve you. What is Sir Philip Camdeii’s true 
name ? ” 


THE MIDNIGHT BELL 


305 


“ Stanton. He has also been known as Court- 
ney — George Courtney.” 

Anine raised her eyes heavenward, abd mut- 
tered something that the prisoner did not hear, 
then saying : 

“I will be back promptly, monsieur,” she van- 
ished. 

When she reached the Louis Quinze rooms, she 
found Lady Hortense lying quietly under the 
eiderdown of her bed with closed eyes and breath 
as gently woven in and out as though nothing 
had happened. 

Murmuring a prayer of thankfulness for this, 
Anine drew the curtains closely, turned the lights 
down dim, then again quitted the apartments 
noiselessly, bearing the basket of cold stores which 
she had taken from the tea-table that night, and 
a decanter of wine. 

As she went upon her mission of mercy, the 
alarm-clock in the hall below was tolling the first 
hour of the new day. 


CHAPTER XXXIII 


THE GATE AJAR 

Dead ! and she knows to-day what ’tis to ford 
The mystic waters of the stream so dread; 

Perhaps she, too, has seen the risen Lord 
In Paradise, where dwell the sainted dead. 

-S. C. 

D ecember 26th, ten o’clock a, m. The Boston 
and Providence east-bound express just puff- 
ing out of the New York station. There were few 
passengers in the drawing-room car this morning 
— in truth, not more than a score in all. 

In one remote corner sat Sir Philip Camden, 
ostensibly absorbed in the perusal of a fresh 
morning journal, but in truth, keeping his eyes 
on a direct level with the blank margin of the 
. paper, that he might stealthily watch the young 
couple who occupied vis d ms^chairs in the center 
of the coach, and who were engaged in low, earnest 
conversation which characterized them at once as 
lovers. Even through the thick, closely drawn 
veil which the lady wore the strikingly beautiful 
features of Dorian Rossmore were recognizable, 
while her dehonnaire companion was none other 
than her recently slighted, but now wholly con- 
ciliated suitor, Fred Bentwell. 

( 306 ) 


THE GATE AJAR 


307 


The latter, having gone to his apartments in 
the “ wee sma’ ” hours of the morning, had found 
Dorian’s little white-winged, lavender-scented 
covenant of peace awaiting him on one corner of 
his dressing table. Upon reading this, he had at 
once summoned a porter to pack his belongings, 
then he had passed the remaining hours, till 
dawn, in the hammam baths ; coming out of 
which, like a new-bloom pansy, he had made an 
elaborate toilet. and was seen hurrying through the 
streets, soon after sunrise, toward Fifth Avenue. 
Dorian, who was up betimes, seasonable to her 
impending journey, welcomed him in becoming 
dishahile. They, however, lingered but briefly 
over that fondest of all lover’s interviews ; for 
they had to breakfast before train time, and once 
on the cars they would have from ten o’clock 
until four to couch in octave clauses, the senti- 
ments which they were now forced to express 
only by short staccato kisses and hurried exclam- 
ations. 

“ Curse him ! ” muttered Sir Philip Camden 
behind his screen, as he watched that intimate 
proximity of faces. “ What madness in Dorian 
to squander such adorable beauty and grace as 
she possesses upon that consummate sop ! But 
this is merely one of her periodical caprices ; she 
will tire of him in less than a month, and her 
ambition for a titled position will be duly 
revived. But I hate that accursed bracelet scene! 


308 THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 

By Heaven ! I’d give its price a hundred times 
over if it had never happened. And her words 
about the stain clinging to a murderer’s hands ! 
Could she have recognized me as the lover of 
Julie d’ Arcy ? Impossible ! ” 

He put the harrowing idea from him as pre- 
posterous, and presently let his gaze wander from 
the couple far out to the sound, upon whose 
crested bosom white yacht masts glistened amid 
flaunting flags of every nationality, and where 
circling seagulls played and dove in wintry glee ; 
and, while for a time he remained lost in dark 
meditations, which shut out even all thoughts of 
Dorian and his young rival, not once was the 
demon within him shaken, or in any manner 
awed. 

“ Wherefor should I tremble ? ” he asked him- 
self in his self-conscious criminality. “I have 
escaped the law all these years ; and, ere this, 
Alphonse Favraud’s lips are sealed in death. 
After the river has buried him, or its current 
borne him to the sea, what will there be to fear ? 
No other power on earth could convict me ! and 
in the end — oh curse the end ! Life is only one 
long lie, anyway ; and humanity is doomed to 
one ultimate and impartial fate — the grave, then 
rot ! Ha ! ha ! what matters it whether a man’s 
record be white or black ? ” 

This, then, was his creed; and with such to blind 
him, to damn his soul forever and forever, he 


THE GATE AJAR 


309 


was hurrying straightway toward his horrible 
doom. 

Ob, Destiny ! thou art a grim and merciless avenger. 

The betrothals of Alice Meredith and Valois 
Elwood — those two sweet characters whom we 
have followed through a brief space of their lives, 
but from whom the current of events has separ- 
ated us for a time, were' celebrated in a quiet, but 
withal, appropriate manner ; and, albeit, there 
were scores of newly betrothed couples in Boston 
on the 26th of December, 18 — , their’s were, by 
far, the happiest hearts among them — at least so 
Valois had shyly lisped in the ear of her soldier 
lover, when he called at ten o’clock ; and as Alice 
stood among the blossoming exotics in the window 
about that same hour, her soulful eyes fixed upon 
a tall, athletic young man who was walking 
swiftly up the avenue toward the brown-stone 
house, the worshipful light in them must have 
drawn him the faster to her, as a magnet draws a 
needle when within range, for when Thayer 
approached nearer, he looked up and saw her, 
and — shall I tell you what he then did ? You 
might think my “ Modern Glaucus ” had grown 
to be quite commonplace if I should ; but I am 
sure that when you pause to consider that actions 
born of such holy love as was his, are like an old- 
fashioned song, ever new and beautiful to the 
sympathetic soul, you will only say, “Wasn’t he 
sweet, and just like a fond young lover ? ” Well, 


310 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


then placing his hands to his lips, he wafted his 
sweetheart kisses one, two, three ! and she, with 
infinite rapture in her fair face, returned them 
with the same impetuous gestures that he himself 
had used ; and then, as if moved by a sudden 
impulse, she rushed to the end of the room where 
the piano stood open, and began to sing: — 

My heart, my heart is like a singing bird, 

Whose nest is in a watered shoot. 

My heart, my heart is like an apple tree, 

Whose boughs are bent with thick-set fruit. 

My heart, my heart is like a rainbow shell. 

That paddles in a halcyon sea. 

My heart, my heart is gladder than all these. 

Because my love, my love hath come to me ! 

“Alice! Darling!” 

She had heard him enter and knew that he 
stood behind her as she sang the two last lines ; 
so when the sound of her sweet, glad voice had 
died away, and his followed close upon it, in the 
two joyful — unutterably joyful exclamations-, she 
put up her arms and clasping them of her own 
spontaneous will, about his neck, she whispered: 
“ My love ! My Robin St. Cloud ! My King 
Cophetua ! ” A long, rapturous kiss, and then — 
ah the dreams of their two young hearts as the 
lovers sat, wrapped in the benediction of the sun- 
light, were such as human, waking hearts seldom 
experience, and such as no earthly words can 
give appropriate shape to. 

Alice had had her sorrows, but their seat was 
now usurped by love, who 


THE GATE AJAR 


311 


Took up the harp of life, and 
Smote on all the chords with might. 

There was nothing awaiting her in the vista of 
years ahead save that essence of divine felicity 
which such heaven-ordained love as she had won 
engenders, and which she reciprocated share for 
share. 

Out beyond the great Atlantic they would go 
ere long, and the years, breaking in like a succes- 
sion of bright, sunlit waves upon their life, would 
find them realizing the dreams that Hortense, the 
poor, isolated and doomed “ Bride of Infelice,’^ 
had predicted for them. No young couple among 
the British aristocracy would be more popular, 
more loved and courted than Sir Thayer Volney, 
and the beautiful Lady Alice. The latter would 
be idolized among her tenants and dependent 
poor, as well as by the political world in which 
her husband would prove an indefatigable worker 
and a luminous light, of whose noble interests 
and traditions her sister’s books would breathe 
chapters in unbridled eloquence, winning for her 
name, fame and many golden laurels which she 
would proudly hand down to her progeny, but 
which she would never prize so dear by half as 
the love with which God had ordained that a 
certain young and chivalrous nobleman should 
crown her to the happy end. 

Somewhere on the Boston and Providence line, 
between Bridgeport and New London a disastrous 


312 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


railway collision had occurred in which the east 
bound express train was wrecked. 

Out beyond that heap of smoking and charred 
debris among a scattered mass of wounded dead 
and dying humanity, Sir Philip Camden lay 
stretched motionless upon the snow, his life- 
breath ebbing from him in quick, convulsive 
throes. 

He had not spoken once since they had taken 
him, all crushed and mangled, from the ruins ; 
and so hopeless, indeed, was his condition that 
the doctors after a brief analysis of it passed on, 
knowing that all attempts to revive him would be 
futile. 

Sir Philip Camden was dying. 

What need now had earthly authorities of the 
confessions of Dorian Rossmore and AlpllonseFav- 
raud? Though he had been the perpetrator of many 
dark and undivulged crimes, what need now of 
France, England or America’s laws of punishment 
in his name ? The soul of this accomplished 
criminal was passing into the precincts of the 
High Court of Justice, the voice of whose throned 
King has been, is now and shall forever be heard 
proclaiming ; “ Vengeance is Mine and I will 
repay ! ’’ 

Julie d’Arcy’s assassin was about to witness 
the book whose pages held the dark secrets of his 
life, closed and sealed forever. So must it lie. 
To investigate such a record would be futile, for 


TEE GATE AJAR 


313 


nothing is there that would gratify — nothing but 
what would produce horror and useless censure, 
hatred and bitter vexation. 

A relief train had been despatched to the scene 
of disaster, and ere long Mrs. Rossmore and Fred 
Bentwell, who had both come out of the disas- 
trous wreck miraculously unscathed, were among 
the passengers on their continued way to Boston. 

They reached the city shortly after nine o’clock 
when Dorian, eager to convey to Mrs. Ayers the 
intelligence of her son-in-law’s precarious condi- 
tion — a condition in which she, Dorian, exulted 
with a vehemence that at times almost terrified 
her — went at once to her establishment where she 
found Hortense Camden’s mother in a wild state 
of hysteria, caused by the report of the railway 
disaster which she had already seen by the latest 
edition of the evening papers. Among the namea 
of the dead victims she had read that of her son- 
in-law, Sir Philip Camden. 

“Oh, my wicked, wicked Hortense !” cried the 
frantic lady. “She it was who sent him to his 
untimely doom ! Had she been other than the 
cold, unloving, skeptical wife toward him that 
she has always been, he would never have gone 
to New York. She has been his evil destiny I She 
has been all but the proud, loving and grateful 
wife she should have been — she has been his 
Doom ! ” 

“ But, my dear Mrs. Ayers, think how much * 


314 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


worse it might have been. It is not as though 
he had left his widow penniless upon your bounty 
He has left her the magnificent estate of Maple- 
hurst. She will still be Lady Camden, and you 
dohbtless will live with her at the castle,’^ sooth- 
ingly and generously reasoned Dorian. 

“ Oh, hush — hush ! ” sobbed Mrs. Ayers as she 
applied a fresh solution of eau de cologne to her 
swollen and much disfigured face. “ My daugh- 
ter can never be reconciled to me — never ! All 
the mother-love that I once felt for her is cold 
and dead within me. She has deliberately killed 
it with obdurate self-will and ingratitude,-’ 

“ Has Lady Hortense yet heard of her husband’s 
death ? ” asked Dorian gently. 

“ No ! She was mad enough to go to Maple- 
hurst yesterday afternoon after being confined to 
her rooms for a whole fortnight. I had a tele- 
gram from her maid this morning stating that 
she was quite ill with a fever. It is just as I pre- 
dicted her rashness would terminate, and I doubt 
if, in her delicate state of health — she is, you 
know, to become a mother in the spring — I doubt 
if she will leave the castle again for months. I 
shall take an early train to-morrow and go to her.” 

“I wish you had gone to-day,” said Mrs. Ross- 
more, with a growing compassionate feeling toward 
the beautiful and unhappy Lady Hortense. “ She 
may be dangerously ill ; and of course there is no 
one with her but her maid.” 


THE GATE AJAR 


315 


“ Anine can do all for her that is necessary,” 
returned Mrs. Ayers unsympathetically. “ Besides 
who,” relapsing suddenly into her fornier state of 
agitation, “ would then have been here to receive 
his — his — corpse ? It will be here on the mid- 
night express ! ” 

So it happened that poor Hortense had looked 
vainly all that afternoon for her mother. She 
had fully expected that upon receiving the tele- 
gram Mrs. Ayers would hasten at once to her 
bedside; but the hours crept on apace and there 
was only Anine to soothe her pillow, and old 
Ephriam to come in at intervals to replenish the 
wood fire. She talked almost incessantly of the 
river that day, asking her maid to bring her 
Whittier’s poems from the library and read to her 
his verses about the Merrimac, and falling asleep 
just as the sun set with that poet’s words upon 
her lips: 

„ O child of that white crested mountain, whose springs 
Gush forth in the shade of the cliff eagle’s wings, 

Down whose slopes to the lowlands the wild waters shine, 
Leaping gray walls of rock, flashing through the dwarf pine. 

O stream of the mountain ! if answer of thine 
Could rise from the waters to question of mine, 

Methinks through the din of thy thronged banks a moan 
Of sorrow would swell for the days which have gone. 

Twilight fell over Maplehurst, and the same 
moon rose again which yesternight had glorified 
the river and the white plains and hills beyond ; 
but the chair at the window was vacant. 


316 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


About ten o’clock Anine brought in her pallet, 
thinking that as her mistress still slept soundly, 
she herself would seek a little rest ; for what with 
her wakeful adventures of the previous night, 
and anxieties of the day, she was well-nigh worn 
out with fatigue. 

For some time she slumbered heavily. She 
was awakened by the alarm clock in the hall 
below, sounding the hour of midnight. What 
was it that caused her to direct her eyes with a 
startled look in them, toward the bed, and encoun- 
tering its white emptiness, spring to her feet with 
a cry of guilty alarm ? 

“It is as I feared,” she said, “my lady has 
gone to the river in her sleep !” She ran to the 
window and looked down toward the moonlit 
waters. Sure enough, on the very brink of the 
terrace she espied a white-robed figure standing, 
motionless as a spectre, gazing down into the 
rushing abyss. The picture was more weirdly 
terrifying than anything she had ever beheld, and 
for a moment it held her rooted to the spot. 

Only a hair’s breadth between the “ Bride of 
Infelice ” and — Eternity ! 

Collecting her dazed senses Anine rushed from 
the room, down the darkened stairs, out of the 
door which stood half ajar, and then madly on 
over the white court-yard toward that silent statu- 
esque figure. 

She was within a few yards of her goal — so near 


THE GATE AJAR 


317 


it indeed that her fear-stilled heart commenced 
to beat again at the glad thought that in one mo- 
ment more her hand would be outstretched to 
grasp the sleeping woman’s garments and to pull 
her back from that awful threatening grave. But 
alas ! ere she had spanned the little space, her 
foot slipped suddenly upon the hard-frozen snow, 
and she fell prostrate forward with a half-sup- 
pressed cry. 

Recovering her feet almost instantly she fixed 
her eyes ahead of her, toward the spot where only 
a moment before she had seen that figure stand- 
ing white and motionless — fixed them there to 
behold the spot now tenantless, and the figure just 
vanishing over the high terrace wall I 

Oh, the awful silence that followed I Anine 
wondered in after days, how she ever was pre- 
vented from going stark mad in those dumb lost 
moments, and by what power she was stayed from 
following down the dark abysmal way that her 
beautiful, kind, and noble mistress had gone. 

She^ remembered, to her dying day, the un- 
earthly shriek, which was followed by a loud 
splashing sound, as Hortense struck the waters. 
She remembered the picture of that dead white 
face, upturned to God, and the resistless hands 
cleaving the dark, foam-crested waters, as all that 
remained of her beloved mistress was whirled 
away toward the sea with the rapidly-rushing 
current. 


318 


THE BRIDE OF INFELICE 


When Mrs. Ayers reached Maplehurst early 
on the next morning, Anine met her at the outer 
gates with a swollen, tear-stained face, and hands 
frantically clasping and unclasping themselves. 

‘‘Oh, Madame cried the stricken girl, “she 
is dead ! my kind and beautiful mistress is dead 
— drowned yonder in those ‘blood -dyed wa‘ers ! ’ 
I saw her float away towards the sea, forever ! 
There are ofiicers at the castle — they are search- 
ing there, and they have found a box containing 
jewels, which they say once belohged to a French 
actress whom Sir Philip murdered ; and oh, 
Madame, he was never Sir Philip Camden at all. 
He was only a common Englishman named Philip 
Stanton, and the papers say, an accomplished 
criminal. I read the denouement myself last 
night, but she, my mistress, never knew of her 
husband’s wickedness. I prayed God to save her 
from knowing it, and He has answered my 
prayer.” 

Tremulous and pale, and encompassed by a 
dumb incredulity, Mrs. Ayers stood for a moment 
motionless after the girl had ceased speaking, 
then shaking herself free from the hands that had 
unconsciously grasped hold of her garments, she 
hurried across the court-yard and vanished 
through the open door. 


[the end] 


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